To Claim His Prize
by Apollo888
Summary: Matthew Crawley, new Earl of Grantham, leads a lonely and bitter life at Downton Abbey. Lady Mary Crawley is married to Sir Richard Carlisle and miserable, with no way out. They both have accepted that they will never be together, but one night of risking something may change everything. A Mary and Matthew Series 2 AU where nothing is as it seems.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** When I completed _An Exceptional Love_ , I thought that would mark my last canon era story ever. As is often the case, a writer cannot choose his inspiration, and the concept for this story works better in canon period than in modern AU. I do not expect this to be as long as my other sagas, but we shall see how it proceeds. Please mind the rating. This is an M-rated story.

The story is set in a Series 2 AU and takes place a year after the Series 2 Christmas Special. The key background facts and canon divergence points that you will soon discover are that while Mary told Matthew about Kemal Pamuk, she proceeded to marry Sir Richard Carlisle anyway because of Matthew still being damaged over Lavinia's death, as well as uncertainty regarding Downton's future. They live together at Haxby, the property neighbouring Downton Abbey. Sybil married Tom and moved to Ireland. Edith married Sir Anthony Strallan and moved to Loxley Hall. Robert died of a heart attack, making Matthew the Eighth Earl of Grantham well before his time. Within that context, Mary and Matthew are resigned to having lost their chance to be together, and with Mary no longer at Downton, their interactions are essentially non-existent. Matthew thinks that all is lost, but he will find out that everything is not as it seems.

* * *

 **To Claim His Prize**

 **Chapter 1:**

 **Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Lord Grantham. Lord Grantham. My Lord, I beg your pardon."

Matthew Crawley, Eighth Earl of Grantham, blinked and shook his head slightly, feeling as if his brain was still asleep. The sound of the dealer's voice cut through the haze over his bleary eyes and shook him from his apparent reverie. He was seated at a large rectangular table covered in green velvet. An empty Cognac snifter sat poised against the black runner that framed the table, and neat stacks of poker chips were arranged in front of him. A set of cards sat face down beneath his hand.

His mind slowly caught up to the situation and the apparent predicament he found himself in.

He looked up at the dealer in confusion and realized that all the other players and many of the immaculately dressed guests standing around the large table were staring at him expectantly. Some watched him with concern, others with indifference. One man, in particular, the host of the evening's festivities, did nothing to disguise his smug, condescending smirk.

Sir Richard Carlisle wore a mask of bored indifference at the best of times, but whenever Matthew was in his presence, he seemed to become more animated, as if he was a jack-in-the-box that had just been wound up and unleashed. His eyes turned bright and cunning, his teeth were bared like an animal wanting to display its fangs in a show of aggression. All during the game, he would look around and observe each of the players cautiously, trying to discerns their tendencies and tells. However, when he found himself matched up against Matthew, as he was now, he seemed to take greater interest in the hand, almost approaching it with relish.

"I apologize," Matthew mumbled.

"The bet is to you, Lord Grantham," the dealer repeated. "Sir Richard has raised to 500 pounds."

"Right," Matthew muttered. He glanced down at his cards once again before putting them back face down on the table. After a slight pause, he reached for the stacks of poker chips and selected a particular colour.

"I call," Matthew announced, clearing his throat. "500 pounds."

Richard smiled and kept his eyes on Matthew as the other players and the small audience looked on in anticipation. Richard's aggressive betting had forced everyone else to fold their cards for this hand. Everyone except for Matthew.

"Two players," the dealer declared. "Sir Richard."

It seemed as if the room stood still waiting on Sir Richard to show his cards. Servants who spent the evening keeping the drinks of the players and their guests refilled and their cigars lit, all stopped what they were doing in concert. The small band in the corner who had been playing the new fast-paced music of the new decade grew quieter. All eyes focused on the two remaining combatants, and the coming reveal to see who would win the pot of over 1500 pounds.

Sir Richard kept his eyes on Matthew as he reached for his cards. He flipped them over with a flourish, his smile never wavering.

"Two pair – Aces and Eights," the dealer announced, bringing Sir Richard's cards into the centre for all to see.

Everyone was already looking at Matthew before the dealer turned to address him.

"Lord Grantham," the dealer prompted him.

Matthew frowned for a split second, looking at Carlisle's cards in disbelief. He quickly resumed his neutral expression, silently berating himself for having shown any reaction to his opponent. Poker had once been called The Lying Game ages ago, for the essence of the game was to only reveal what one wanted, and to manipulate the opponent into believing what one wanted him to believe. Giving Carlisle any information, particularly unprompted, would be disastrous.

Reaching for his cards, Matthew pursed his lips, his voice tight and quiet.

"Well played, Sir Richard," he said quickly, passing his cards to the dealer without turning them over.

The other players all exchanged impressed glances over Sir Richard's victory. Mild applause rang out from the guests. All at once the mood in the ballroom lightened. The band picked up the song once again. The servants resumed their tasks. Richard collected his winnings and leaned back to take a sip of his Scotch, his smile even wider than before.

"Your Cognac, my Lord," a servant stated politely, placing a freshly filled snifter next to Matthew.

"Thank you," Matthew muttered, nodding before taking a longer sip than he ought to have.

A valet came over to collect Sir Richard's empty glass. The man leaned in and whispered into his Master's ear for a moment before departing to fetch him a new drink. No one else noticed the exchange, least of all the Earl of Grantham sitting across the table, stewing in his most recent defeat at the hands of his rival.

* * *

"Sir Richard raises to 200 pounds. The bet is to you, Lord Gillingham," the dealer called.

Anthony Foyle, Viscount Gillingham, did not hesitate. "I call, and re-raise," the tall dark-haired man replied, pushing his chips forward. "300."

"Lord Gillingham raises to 300 pounds," the dealer confirmed, taking the chips and adding them to the growing pot. "The bet is to you, Lord Grantham."

Matthew glanced over at Tony, wondering what cards the man could be holding to justify such an aggressive maneuver. As usual, Tony had a silly sort of smile on his face, his large nose making him look anything but intimidating. Tony seemed to play rather loosely throughout the evening, just as likely to bet when he had nothing as he was when he held the strongest hand. His bravado was generally all for show, whether it was playing at cards or bragging about how he had negotiated a settlement with the government to save his family estate. The man loved to crow about his own accomplishments and conveniently ignored the underlying failures that rendered them virtually meaningless. It was difficult to tell whether he was being reckless or deceptive, and Matthew tended to think that with the amount of money at stake, even Tony wouldn't rush headlong into a foolish bet without cause.

"I fold," Matthew said slowly, passing his cards to the dealer.

"Sir Richard," the dealer continued, looking at the newspaperman.

"Call," Richard nodded.

Tony didn't wait for the dealer to ask him to show his hand.

"Kings," Tony grinned, turning over his cards and revealing his high pair.

Richard's eyes narrowed as he saw his opponent's hand.

"It's yours," he sniffed, tossing his cards dismissively to the dealer without showing them.

No one bothered to applaud as Tony collected his winnings. The drinks were refilled and the sound of music and conversation picked up again. Matthew took up his Cognac and smiled, almost as pleased to see Carlisle lose a hand as if he himself had won.

As before, the same valet came over to whisper in Sir Richard's ear before the next hand was dealt. Everyone either ignored the conversation, or assumed it was something innocuous, such as the kitchen running low on hors d'oeuvres. Once the cards were passed out and the new hand began, no one even remembered the servant had spoken to Sir Richard, or the fact that such private talks were happening with strange regularity throughout the night.

* * *

"It's called _Head of a Woman_. This is believed to be the first sculpture of the Cubist period, and certainly one of Picasso's earliest works since launching the movement that has shaken the European art world. What is so remarkable about this piece is how it is transformed whenever we move our own eyes and look at it from a different angle. The contours, the shapes, we can see where Picasso placed his very fingers into the plaster."

Matthew frowned and sipped his drink, keeping to himself a short distance away from the small crowd raving over Sir Richard's most recent purchase. He had already seen it when he first arrived, and read about it extensively before finding out to his dismay that it would be displayed at Haxby. When he first heard about Cubism, he was intrigued, as stunned and overwhelmed by the movement as anyone. He liked how the paintings and sculptures of the style challenged one to consider looking at things through different perspectives, and search through the jumbled mess for the individual components that made up the subject. It always started out as a strange morass, vague and messy, but eventually the mind sifted through it all and clarity came in an eureka flash of realization where the important parts were distinguished and the rest left behind.

If _Head of a Woman_ was put on display in London, he surely would have gone to see it. Now that it would call Haxby home, he could barely bring himself to look at it.

His annoyance was made all the worse by having to endure such a familiar voice rave about it.

"Sir Richard was able to obtain it through his contacts in France for a quite exorbitant sum, but he tends to be rather reckless when it comes to fine art. It's quite a coup to bring such a masterpiece to England. He's already been in touch with the National Gallery to discuss staging an exhibition. He believes that this is seminal work should be shared with as many people as possible."

Matthew clenched his teeth as the guests spoke glowingly of their host's generosity. He prayed that this intermission in the poker game would end promptly and he could go back to the table. These interludes were designed to allow the players to stretch their legs a bit and mingle with the guests. Matthew preferred actual exercise to standing around, and he had no interest in mingling with anyone here, so to make him wait out the ten minutes was akin to a slow torture.

Particularly when he had to hear the most brilliant woman he knew parrot a speech about the magnanimous Sir Richard Carlisle like a glorified tour guide.

A servant appeared before him and collected his empty glass. Matthew took the opportunity to walk around the large ballroom, hoping that by moving about he would avoid anyone trying to talk to him.

Like the rest of the immense country home, the ballroom at Haxby Park was renovated by Carlisle to the point that it barely resembled its former self. His numerous changes included installing electric lighting everywhere and hanging gaudy crystal chandeliers from the ceiling. Paintings and sculptures from Italy and France were brought in and put on show as if they were badges of honour, evidence that Carlisle had the money and status to belong in Society. The walls were painted blue with pillars and mouldings in white, and gold accents everywhere. There were mirrors all over the place, large shining sheets of glass mounted to capture everything that was going on in the large space.

He circulated about slowly, taking it all in. A few of the ideas and touches weren't so bad. There were rooms back at Downton Abbey that were similarly appointed. It was how Carlisle had piled them all into one room, though, that obliterated any sense of subtlety. The room screamed 'look at me' from every corner.

"Are you hiding, or brooding?"

He blinked and looked up, seeing her reflection in the mirror in front of him first. Her hair was cut short in keeping with the new styles from Paris, the dark brown tresses now stopping just past her ears, held fast by a gleaming diamond headband. Her gown was silver, and seemed to shift and undulate as she moved. The skirt fell just above her ankles, the slightest sign of bare flesh daringly visible through the black fringe. She looked exactly as she was supposed to – the sophisticated and elegant hostess, dressed in the latest fashions, ready to entertain.

"Mary," he nodded, turning away from the mirror to face her.

"You didn't seem particularly interested in my presentation of _Head of a Woman_ , Matthew," she noted. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No, you covered it all, I think," he replied.

"Well, I did omit to mention that the model was Fernande Olivier. She was Picasso's lover, you know. They had a rather passionate affair at the time he created this," she continued.

"They went to Spain together in 1909," he nodded. "He painted her numerous times. However, when they returned to Paris in the autumn, their relationship became strained. He produced that sculpture around the same time. It's survived far better than its model did. Their relationship ended in 1912."

Her eyes narrowed. "Why do you think that was?"

"Apparently they fell in love over a shared addiction for opium," he stated, looking at her pointedly. "I imagine that once they came down from their constant highs and the veil was lifted, they saw each other rather differently. Reality can be rather harsh for some people without the prism of love to maintain the illusion."

She arched her eyebrow, the cold glare that he knew so well overtaking her. "Possibly. However, I was informed that he grew frustrated with her. You see, she was more than just a model. She was an aspiring painter herself, with ambitions to make something of herself, to become respectable. She wanted to be known as more than just Picasso's lover and muse. Sadly, rather than support her growth, he became aggravated by it, and promptly took up with another woman – Eva Goeul, a friend of Fernande's – who I understand was described as small, sweet and submissive."

"I've heard the same, yes," he said tightly.

She smiled, though it didn't reach her eyes. "So, I suppose the question is who was truly delusional – the man, or the woman?"

"Does it matter?" he asked. "They were together and it all fell apart in the end. Regardless of who is to blame, there's nothing left of them, is there?"

"No, there isn't," she agreed. "They went their separate ways, and are likely to have nothing to do with each other for the rest of their lives."

"That's probably for the best," he stated. "A complete ending is often the cleanest."

"It is," she nodded.

"Your Ladyship."

They both turned as a footman approached and bowed respectfully.

"My Lord, the game will resume shortly. Sir Richard asks that everyone take their seats. Your Ladyship, Sir Richard requested that you visit the kitchens before retiring."

"Thank you," Mary nodded.

The footman bowed again and took his leave.

"You're not staying for the remaining hands?" Matthew asked.

Mary looked at him and for a moment her eyes seemed to grow tired, the sharp lines of her cheeks seemed to soften, and her shoulders appeared to sag. She resumed her elegant air again so quickly that he wasn't sure if he imagined the loss of composure or not.

"Richard prefers that I go up early," she said evenly. "My hosting duties are coming to an end for the evening and he believes that a poker game is no place for a woman otherwise."

He looked at her carefully. "I see. Well, I shall bid you a pleasant evening now, then, Cousin."

She smiled and nodded politely. "And to you, Matthew. Try and not lose everything in the remaining hands. I should hate to see my family's silver ransomed to pay off your debts to my husband."

It was meant to be a joke, and he would have taken it as such, just as he had for years before. They used to joke with each other. They used to trade barbs and cutting remarks, laugh together at the expense of others and themselves, and even exchange insults without any malice given or received. That old spirit, that old rapport between them would have resurfaced again in a tender moment of shared empathy if not for her mention of Carlisle at the end.

"Don't worry," he said drily. "Even if I were to lose everything, you'd still be here in this lovely home without a care in the world."

Her eyes widened for a second, but before she could say anything, he nodded his head and left, walking back to the table without a second glance.

* * *

"Gentlemen, this will be the final hand of the evening," the dealer announced. "Pursuant to the House Rules of Haxby Park, there shall be no limits on betting."

Matthew sipped the last of his latest glass of Cognac and set the snifter aside. He took a deep breath, the liquor warming his throat and chest. Throughout the evening, he had managed to slowly build his winnings back up, such that now with the final hand looming, he had the third most chips at the table behind Tony in first place and Sir Richard in second. The gap to the first two was substantial, but Matthew was confident that he would be leaving tonight having not lost too much money. He had set aside a large sum to play with, and he hadn't gone beyond that amount. Taking Carlisle's money would have been a brilliant result for him, but given how the evening had gone, limiting his losses would do well enough.

After Mary went up just over an hour ago, the remaining guests slowly began departing. While the poker game was amusing entertainment for the audience, this final hand would determine the evening's ultimate winner, and Matthew discovered that surprisingly Carlisle did not want a crowd watching over them. Everyone was sent away with a nod and a smile, such that only the players and the dealer were left now.

As the dealer shuffled the cards, Matthew's mind wandered to the remainder of his evening. He would go home to an empty house. Carson and the staff would all be asleep by now. Mary's mother, Cora, was still in America until Christmas and her sister, Edith, was in London for another month with her husband, Sir Anthony Strallan. He could spend the last hour before going to bed finishing his letter to Mary's youngest sister, Sybil, he supposed. She had written to him last month and he had neglected to reply until this past week. Really, he ought to have declined Carlisle's invitation and stayed at home. Writing to Sybil and reading a good book would have been far more enjoyable than playing poker with this lot. A part of him wondered why he even bothered to show up. Another part of him knew the answer before the question was even asked.

"Lord Grantham. It is 100 pounds to proceed to the next round," the dealer called.

"Call," Matthew replied, tossing his chips into the pot without a second thought.

The hand progressed through several more rounds of betting, with most of the other players dropping out, either to preserve their winnings or limit their losses. Once a player folded his cards, he was promptly shown out after sharing a handshake with Carlisle. No one protested or asked to remain. This wasn't the first time that Carlisle had hosted an evening of poker, and it seemed that everyone wanted to stay on his good side to ensure they were invited back.

Matthew couldn't help but think that they were all dismissed as a punishment also. He knew that if Carlisle had his way, everyone would see the hand through to the end, with the winner taking everyone's chips from the entire evening. To fold early was an act of cowardice according to Carlisle, and he had no patience for people willing to come and gamble during the evening and refuse to risk it all at the crucial climax at the end. Really, Carlisle was just angry that he wouldn't have the chance to rob everyone of their money, and so he banished the escapees for the night, sending them on their way with a bottle of champagne as he plotted to vanquish them next time. It was a wonder the man didn't make that part of the House rules. Nothing about the arrogant bastard would surprise Matthew now.

He blinked, a sudden jolt of recollection making him sit up straight. Keeping his cards turned down, he glanced around the table as the dealer went through the players who were still alive in the hand. The servants were milling about, moving back and forth from the poker table to the bar to take care of everyone. Pretending to look over at _Head of a Woman_ across the ballroom, he spied Carlisle's valet standing a few paces behind him, his eyes darting back and forth as he surveyed the scene.

Returning his gaze to his stacks of chips, Matthew took notice of where some of the other servants were standing and for the first time all evening realized that while there were staff in constant motion attending to the players, there was a group of footmen who never left their positions surrounding the table. They had been hidden before when the other guests were here and gathered around the table, but now with the ballroom almost empty, they became far more noticeable. He looked back down at his chips, his brow furrowing with this new information.

"Lord Grantham," the dealer called, looking at him.

"Two cards, please," Matthew asked, sliding the top two cards in his pile across the table and taking two new ones in return.

* * *

By the time the final round of betting arrived, it was down to Carlisle, Tony and him. As the player with the least amount of chips, Matthew would likely be an observer to a duel between the other two. He didn't have enough money to cover the amounts available to his opponents.

"I'll bet everything," Tony announced, smiling as he waved his hand across all of his chips.

Richard frowned at Tony petulantly before nodding his head. "Call."

"You don't have enough," Tony chuckled, nodding towards Richard's chips.

"One moment, gentlemen, please," the dealer interrupted them. He turned to Matthew. "Lord Grantham?"

"Call," Matthew nodded.

"Lord Grantham calls. We, therefore, have two separate pots," the dealer declared. "One comprised of Lord Grantham's total chips and the equivalent amounts from Lord Gillingham and Sir Richard, and another consisting of the remaining chips between Lord Gillingham and Sir Richard. Gentlemen, if you would please…"

"Wait," Richard stopped him, holding up his hand. He sneered at Tony. "Care to make it even?"

"How?" Tony smirked. "Shall I keep the difference for myself?"

"No," Richard scoffed. "I shall add to my bet so that we are even."

"From what?" Tony asked, frowning in confusion.

"This is the final hand. There are no betting limits. House rules," Richard smiled. "I'll ensure that the pot has equal value from both of us."

"What about Matthew?" Tony asked, not even looking over at him.

Richard turned and smiled darkly at Matthew. "It's up to you whether you wish to extend him the same offer."

Tony contemplated Richard's suggestion before eventually nodding his head. "Very well. Shall we have the dealer count my chips to start?"

"No, we're all gentlemen here. There's no need to waste our time," Richard replied. "All debts will be settled at the conclusion of the hand without exception."

Tony frowned. "With all due respect, Sir Richard, I've played many hands of poker, and quite simply, though I hold a man's word in utmost esteem, I do not accept promises to pay as sufficient collateral."

Richard frowned, his lips curling into a snarl.

"I agree," Matthew chimed in, immediately drawing a glare from Richard as well. "Why should Lord Gillingham go along with your terms? He has more to lose in this scenario. If you wish to compel him to risk the remainder of his chips, I should think that the mere promise of money is not enough."

Richard did nothing to disguise his contempt.

"Matthew's right," Tony said, emboldened by the unexpected support. "As it stands, if I lose this hand, I still keep the difference between our chips. Why should I risk anything more than what I have to?"

Richard seemed to be grinding his teeth, his eyes full of rage. Silence fell upon the table as the two remaining players waited for him to answer. The dealer and the servants pretended not to be paying attention lest they find themselves the poor targets of their Master's fury.

"Very well," Richard said finally, a frightening sneer filling his face. "It sounds to me as though you require an incentive, Lord Gillingham."

Tony smiled. "Precisely."

Richard looked at Matthew before continuing. "So be it. I shall provide you with the collateral that you seek. I shall pledge something of value that is beyond reproach."

Tony frowned. "Such as? A pledge does not give me any further confidence, Sir Richard. I would much prefer if you were to write me a cheque for an amount that would…"

"To match your chips, and even exceed it," Richard smiled. "I shall bet a weekend with Lady Mary."

"What?" Matthew exclaimed, his eyes bulging out of his head.

Richard grinned devilishly. "Do be quiet, Matthew. This doesn't concern you. It's a side-bet between myself and Lord Gillingham."

Matthew's hands balled into fists as Richard turned back to a stunned Tony.

"If I lose, which I won't, you can have my chips, as well as a weekend in my wife's company, to be decided at your convenience," Richard declared. "You will agree that such a pledge is almost priceless, particularly given the history between your families and your own personal history with her."

Tony swallowed audibly, appearing entirely dumbfounded. Eventually, he found his voice and nodded several times. "Yes, I agree. That would certainly be a sufficient incentive."

"Excellent," Richard nodded cheerfully. "We have terms, then."

"Sir Richard, I strongly object!" Matthew protested, rising to his feet. "Mary is my cousin and as Earl of Grantham, I have a duty to uphold her honour. I cannot allow you to so cavalierly refer to her as…as…chattel! I am quite certain you have more than sufficient funds available to you to satisfy Tony for this last hand. Simply write him a cheque and…"

"Sit down, Matthew," Carlisle commanded, his eyes narrowed in a fierce glare. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me in my home."

Matthew glared right back. "I will not sit back down until I am satisfied that…"

"Sit down now, or I will have you removed from this game and this house and Lord Gillingham and I will finish our dealings without your presence," Carlisle snarled.

Matthew leaned forward, his fists shaking at his sides. Keeping his stare on Carlisle, he slowly sat back down.

"There. That wasn't so hard, was it?" Carlisle said lightly. "Now, your cousin Mary may be, but she is my wife. I trust I do not need to remind you that her duty, her sole duty, is to me. She does as I command, and while there is very little risk of her having to follow through with my wager, she most certainly will, for unlike you, she knows her place. Therefore, those are my terms, and Lord Gillingham has wisely agreed. You can either fold your hand and take your chips with you or set your chips aside and you will see which one of us ends up winning them."

Matthew looked down at his chips, his pulse racing.

"Don't act so aghast, Matthew," Carlisle pressed him. "It was actually your idea in a way. If you hadn't emboldened Tony by suggesting that I needed to give him an incentive, I never would have mentioned it."

As absurd as Carlisle's logic was, it felt like a punch to the gut to Matthew.

"One moment, there is another option," Matthew struggled. "I am within my rights to try and match the same incentive."

Carlisle laughed at him. "I suppose that is correct, but what could you possibly pledge that is anywhere near comparable?"

Matthew tried to calm his breathing, his mind a cacophony of thoughts and emotions colliding against each other.

"I must say, Matthew, I agree with Sir Richard," Tony said, sounding a bit more sympathetic. "If he's not pledging money, then what could you come up with to match?"

Matthew looked at Tony and calmed down a bit. The sight of someone looking back at him not nearly as harshly as Carlisle steadying him a little.

"Tony, all I have to match is the concept of an incentive," Matthew explained. "If I pledge sufficient funds to have you agree to let me compete for the entire pot, that is all that is required."

Tony blinked before nodding his head in understanding. "Ah. Yes, fair enough. That's tidy, then."

"Wait," Richard huffed. "There are three of us here. You need not only satisfy Lord Gillingham. You must satisfy me as well to allow you to participate in the full pot."

"I expected you to say that," Matthew nodded. "That is why I am prepared to pledge as my part of the pot – the Crawley family lands abutting Haxby."

Tony blinked.

Richard's mouth fell open.

"The parcel of land that runs along the border with Haxby would fetch more than enough funds to have Tony agree to the bet. And as for you, Sir Richard, I'm sure you would love nothing more than to own a part of my family's property, particularly as it would expand your own holdings so nicely," Matthew continued.

"Your lands run with your title, though," Tony pointed out.

"Yes, but part of them can still be sold, so long as the majority of the original estate remains in the family and subject to the entail established by the sixth Earl, Mary's grandfather," Matthew replied. "Besides, as I currently do not have a son, and no surviving male relatives, the Earldom would perish upon my death, and the lands sold in any event."

Richard considered his answer.

"I am confident that once the land is transferred to Sir Richard, he would be more than capable of ensuring that it remained in his control, regardless of what anyone else might say," Matthew finished.

Richard smiled at that.

"That's acceptable to me, yes," Tony nodded. "If it can be sold, that parcel is worth a small fortune."

"It is," Matthew confirmed. "Which is why I want terms."

Richard frowned. "Pardon?"

"Tony's chips are sufficient to cover his part of the bet. From you, Sir Richard, I will require more. You have pledged Mary's company for one weekend. I want a month," Matthew stated firmly.

"A month? Out of the question!" Richard snapped.

Matthew smiled coldly. "So predictable. All of your beating your chest over how you have a superior hand to Tony, and when you're pushed to back up all your talk, you fold. If there's so little risk to having to actually pay out your debt if you lose, why do the precise terms of the collateral matter? You're clearly content to put Mary forward as part of all this. Whether it be a weekend or a month, what is the difference?"

"You're asking for me to allow my wife to go and live with you for one month?" Richard exclaimed.

"And in return, if you win, I'm giving up a part of my family lands that goes back centuries," Matthew retorted. "You, of all people, know the value of land, Sir Richard, both in terms of money and status. If your hand is as strong as you believe, you'll have your parcel and Mary will never have to set foot in Downton. Beyond that, I expect a story about how you won a valuable piece of property from the Earl of Grantham in a poker game will make you quite popular at Season parties."

Richard looked at him closely before he glanced away for a moment. When he returned his gaze to Matthew, a dangerous smile spread across his face.

"Very well. One month. I have business in India and am leaving for six weeks shortly, so the timing is convenient. When I win, you will sign over the parcel of land abutting Haxby to me, and you will agree to have no further dealings with my wife or my family unless I am to permit it," Richard declared.

"Mary will want to still be able to visit her Mama, Granny and sisters," Matthew noted.

"And so she will, under my conditions, and without your involvement," Richard stated.

"Fine," Matthew said tightly.

Richard grinned. "Perfect."

They all looked towards the dealer, who cleared his throat and tried to keep his detached demeanour.

"We have terms for a single pot, winner-take-all," the dealer stated, his voice catching. "Lord Gillingham, as the original bet was made by you, it is to you to show your cards first."

Tony nodded and turned over his cards.

"Two pair – Tens and Eights," the dealer called, bringing Tony's hand into the centre of the table. "Sir Richard, you called the bet."

Richard was already smiling at Matthew. He turned his cards over, not even bothering to look at Tony.

"Three of a kind – Jacks," the dealer nodded. "Lord Gillingham is eliminated."

Tony frowned and shook his head.

"Lord Grantham," the dealer said, looking at Matthew.

"You can't beat three Jacks with a pair of Kings," Richard said gleefully.

Behind Matthew, the valet smiled.

Matthew nodded. "You're right, Sir Richard. A pair of Kings doesn't beat three Jacks."

He turned over his cards.

The blood drained from Richard's face.

"Full house – Nines full of Kings," the dealer mumbled. He seemed to recoil away from Sir Richard as much as he could while still staying seated. "Lord Grantham wins the pot."

Richard looked at his valet, then back at Matthew's cards, his face frozen in shock.

"Well played, Tony," Matthew said, rising from his chair and shaking Tony's hand.

Tony got up from the table and returned Matthew's gesture.

"Sir Richard," Matthew called.

Richard did not bother standing up. He could only look up at Matthew, his usual dismissive sneer obliterated by complete incredulity.

"Good evening," Matthew nodded. "Inform Lady Mary that my driver will arrive to collect her one week hence."

Richard said nothing. All he did was continue to stare.

"Your winnings, Lord Grantham," the dealer muttered, offering Matthew the cash box that everyone had deposited their payments into at the beginning of the night. The players that were previously eliminated were paid their respective shares when they left, leaving only the contributions of Tony and Carlisle in addition to his own.

"My driver will come to collect it shortly," Matthew nodded.

With that, he turned and walked briskly from the ballroom and down the hall to the front foyer. He did not bother looking up at the immense staircase or the lavish gallery above as he headed for the door, nor did he glance in the direction of the upstairs bedrooms where Mary was asleep, completely unaware of what had transpired.

When Matthew came outside, his driver got out of the car and came around to open the door for him. Matthew preferred to drive his own car, but since he knew he would be drinking heavily tonight, he allowed the chauffeur to take him. As he approached the car, he was glad he had someone with him. He was in no condition to do much of anything.

"There's a cash box inside with the dealer. Go in and get it, please," Matthew said quickly gesturing behind him to the door.

"Yes, my Lord," the driver nodded. He left swiftly to head inside.

Matthew went around to the back of the car, out of sight of the grand front doors of Haxby. He shot out his arm and grasped the boot, leaning on to it for support as his other hand went to his stomach. Bending over, he gasped before groaning and vomiting all over the ground.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"I beg your pardon, my Lord?"

Matthew sighed and tried to control his mounting anger. Carson, the venerable old butler continued to look at him in confusion, which was entirely understandable, but which made Matthew's task no less simple.

"Lady Mary will be spending the next month with us, Carson. She will be arriving in five days and staying here while Sir Richard is in India on business," Matthew repeated.

"My Lord, Lady Mary has a full complement of staff at Haxby Park," Carson noted. "Why she should need to come here is difficult for me to understand."

"Carson, you need not understand," Matthew snapped, his patience waning. He would sooner die than tell Carson, or anyone, the full story of why Mary was coming to Downton Abbey after leaving years ago. "I have invited Lady Mary to stay with us for the coming month. I expect your full support and assistance in making her stay as enjoyable as possible. Can I count on you, yes or no?"

Carson blinked before snapping to attention. He raised his head and stood as rigid and stoic as always.

"You may rely upon me, my Lord," the butler declared. "It will be an honour to have Lady Mary back with us."

"Good man," Matthew nodded in relief. "Now, we should reopen the Family Wing, and Lady Mary's old bedroom in particular. Please have Mrs Hughes deal with bringing it all back to life. I'd like for Mrs Patmore to arrange a menu that is familiar for Lady Mary, including the dishes that she loved best in her youth. I'm sure that you remember them. If you need it, I can fill it in for you."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded. "The house will be renewed in time for her arrival."

"Thank you, Carson. See about having the Outdoor Staff go through the Rose Garden and attend to whatever is necessary there. I know five days is very little time, but have them do what they can," Matthew continued.

"Yes, my Lord," Carson confirmed. "If I may make a suggestion or two, my Lord?"

"Yes, of course, Carson," Matthew nodded. "What is it?"

"Lady Mary might enjoy taking a stroll across the grounds and sitting on the bench that she used to frequent so very much," Carson advised. "I would recommend that we bring it back out of storage, my Lord."

Matthew frowned and looked down at his papers on the desk. "I don't know if you'll find it in very usable condition, Carson."

"Be that as it may, my Lord, I believe that any damage can surely be easily repaired with some paint and polish," Carson said.

"Go on then," Matthew agreed, letting himself smile a small bit.

"I also should think that a few familiar faces might help Lady Mary feel more comfortable during her stay, my Lord," Carson suggested gently.

Matthew's eyes widened. "I doubt that they will want to be in the same house as me after the way I behaved, Carson."

"I think that with the right amount of cajoling, including an apology from Your Lordship, that could change," Carson urged.

Matthew sighed and looked to the large windows and the fields beyond.

"I believe that Lady Mary and Anna could use some time to become reacquainted, my Lord," Carson continued. "And Mr. Bates was quite fond of you at a time."

"A time long ago, Carson," Matthew said quietly.

"Much has changed, my Lord, which is true. And some for the better," Carson remarked.

Matthew swallowed and looked at the butler. "Very well. Invite them up to the house."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded, bowing his head and taking his leave.

Matthew got up from his chair and went over to the window. He placed his hand on the cool glass and looked outside.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

 **Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary groaned and crumpled the paper up into a ball before tossing it into the bin with all the others. She got up from her writing desk and crossed her arms over her chest, heading over to the window to stare out into the direction of her family home at Downton Abbey.

Her mind was still a mess three days after that fateful morning when her husband came to her bedroom as the maid was bringing in her tray. She expected that Richard had some instructions for her pertaining to some important business contact they would be hosting or some other nonsense. She hated his morning visits as they tended to ruin her mood for the rest of the day. Being reminded of what she had to wear, how she must act, and who she needed to be friendly to, was maddening, to say nothing for how horrible a reminder it was of the fate she had bound herself to for the rest of her life.

She closed her eyes to try and clear her head, but it only made her flashbacks and unwanted thoughts all the more vivid. In the beginning, she had tried. She honestly could tell herself that she had made a real effort to make this sham of a marriage work. Being with Richard, and most importantly, being away from Matthew, was healthy for her at first. For all of his faults, Richard was a brilliant man, ambitious, witty, and charming in his own way. She had been seduced by his power and drive, but also saw traits of him at Cliveden that intrigued her. Marriages of convenience were not so terrible, she told herself back then. Her parents had one at first, didn't they? She never pretended she would ever love Richard, but she could make a viable partnership with him. They could be a good team, as he often said, and for the first few months, they were.

There was no shame in admitting that she enjoyed those early days. It was exciting to be on his arm when they attended functions and he introduced her to politicians, bankers, businessmen and other power brokers in London. As more and more aristocratic families fell and his newspaper empire expanded, she felt she had made a wise decision in choosing him. The spectre of her scandal with Kemal Pamuk was no longer a threat. Matthew knew the truth, as did all of her family, but she saw no future at Downton. She made a choice for herself and early on, it seemed she had chosen right.

When Papa died and Matthew was elevated to Earl, she suffered in more ways than one. Losing her father so unexpectedly was crushing, but seeing Matthew have to forge on alone was heartbreaking. Still, by putting aside sentiment, she was more resolved than ever that her life had to be away from Downton Abbey, and away from him. He was still haunted by the loss of Lavinia and showed no signs of ever shaking it. Though she never spoke to him about it directly, as it was no longer her place to do so, paying Papa's death duties must have crippled the estate. To stand by and watch her home crumble all around her would have been too much to bear. At Haxby, with Richard, she could build something new, something worth having, and no matter what became of Downton, she would survive.

She opened her eyes and looked out the window once more, shaking her head at the bitter irony of her situation. Everything changed when she learned the truth.

She never expected Richard to be a gentleman. That could be taught. She never expected Richard to be a romantic. That wasn't necessary to her or even wanted. She never expected Richard to be scrupulous. He dealt in bribes, threats, payoffs and intimidation to get his stories and work his influence. Thousands of upstanding and well-meaning aristocrats were now penniless and bankrupt. She wouldn't be one of them.

What she needed him to be was what he told her he was – powerful, rich and getting richer.

She learned to her dismay that there were varying definitions of such terms.

He was powerful, no question. After the War, the influence of newspapers and journalists was ever increasing. The government was so tenuous and the spirit of the public so fragile that the right or wrong editorial could sway the country in any direction. Richard was the Baron of Fleet Street, capable of changing lives on a whim.

In return for holding that power, he had enemies, and to consolidate that power, he needed allies, and allies needed to be kept happy. His bribes were far larger than she expected, and he often paid for a story just so he could say he got it first, rather than based on whether it would even sell any more newspapers. The cost of maintaining his image was highly expensive, but that wasn't the worst part. There were several of his contacts, sources and associates for which money wasn't enough.

It started out innocently enough. Be introduced to this Duke or that Minister, smile through their stories, laugh at their jokes, chat with their wives. Was that not exactly what she would be doing if she had married Matthew also? Her Mama had trained her on the art of Society from a young age and she had learned her lessons well. There was no one she couldn't charm.

But Matthew would never ask her to do what Richard had. Matthew would never even think of doing so.

Richard's grip on both the source of his power and the building of his fortune was tenuous at best. His weren't the only newspapers in London and while he controlled the flow of information, he needed his sources even more than they needed him. Put them off, and they would sell their secrets to one of his competitors, and he would be left looking foolish. Whoever broke the story was the winner in his business, and it was a cutthroat affair.

Dinners with politicians and their wives became drinks and dancing with just the men at jazz clubs into the late hours. Harmless flirting at charity functions became stolen kisses in some dark corner at an after-hours club. Being able to rely on Richard for protection, even if it was just as a convenient excuse to extricate herself from a leering banker whose hands had minds of their own, became hosting one of his contacts in the parlour of their home with him conveniently nowhere to be found.

And now this.

She swallowed at the memory of that night. Seeing Matthew had hurt, as it always did. He was dressed impeccably and his blond hair was perfectly set, but there was a sadness in his eyes, a burden on his shoulders that she could not lighten. Even their banter, so long the safe haven they could return to, was missing. It was just a contest between them now, as it had been that very first dinner after his arrival years ago. Who could claim superiority, who could outwit the other, who could inflict the deepest wound with their words?

She went up to bed at Richard's order, resigned to not seeing Matthew again until Christmas, if she would even get the chance then. With Isobel living back in Manchester, he had a convenient excuse to be away for the holidays.

Never did she imagine the night would turn out as it did.

In any other circumstances, she would have been delighted to hear about Richard's crushing defeat. Losing the money was disappointing. There wasn't nearly as much of that as she expected, thanks to his gambling in both business and at home. Still, if his carefully planned strategy to fleece the other players had ended up biting him in the end, so much the better. She would have even had dinner with Tony if that's what it took. Spending a weekend with the man was out of the question, but she was confident she could stop him from doing anything completely deplorable. He was always smitten with her, and she didn't see him as the dangerous type.

Matthew, by contrast, was nothing but dangerous.

Her hand went up to touch her lips, instantly recalling the feel of his mouth on hers when they danced in the Great Hall so long ago. It was wrong. They were both engaged to other people, and his fiancée, Lavinia, was severely ill and resting on the floor above them. Still, she loved every scandalous second of it. Being in his arms, feeling his warm breath on her cheek just before he claimed her lips with his, it was all glorious, beyond her wildest dreams. When Lavinia interrupted them and they broke apart, a part of her wasn't ashamed. Matthew was hers first. He still cared for her. That was obvious. Lavinia was a sweet girl, but the fact was that Matthew didn't love Lavinia the way he loved her. Matthew didn't want Lavinia the way he wanted her. She was sure of it.

A flush of arousal warmed her cheeks. What would have happened if Lavinia hadn't come down at that precise moment? Would they have kept kissing uninterrupted? What about when the Victrola stopped playing and their pretence of a dance came to an end? Would they separate and act as if the moment never happened? She had gone downstairs to be with him. Whether that meant just to talk, to dance, to kiss, she didn't know exactly. But she needed to be with him in that moment, and he needed to be with her.

She closed her eyes and allowed herself to drift back to that time and place. If he wanted to pin her against the wall and ravish her with kisses, she would have allowed it. If he would have wanted her to touch him wantonly through his trousers, she would have done it. If he would have ordered her to come to his bedroom later that night so he could strip her naked and make her his lover, she would have stopped at nothing to obey.

It felt so good to crave him so desperately, to lust for him more than she had any other man. Was that not proof that they were meant to be? Despite all the obstacles in their way, despite all the reasons why they should avoid each other, despite all the horrible consequences if they were to give in to temptation, she still wanted him. Most would call her a slut for having such depraved thoughts about him, but she didn't care. She loved him so much that she would take a single moment of bliss with him if that was all she could have. If only Lavinia hadn't interrupted them, anything was possible that night.

But Lavinia stopped them, then Lavinia died, and everything changed.

She knew they weren't cursed, as he had claimed after Lavinia's funeral. She knew they hadn't killed her, as he declared as he wallowed in the cruelty of it all. Lavinia died of the terrible Spanish Flu, and there was nothing they could have done about it.

But Matthew believed otherwise, and she couldn't be with him if he was resigned to the myth that they didn't belong together. No one would ever call her sentimental, not even Sybil, who always saw the best in her. But as much as she loved Matthew, she couldn't hold them together if he wasn't willing to at least entertain the thought.

She stepped away from the window and went back to the writing desk, still unsure as to what she should write. The idea of spending a month at Downton Abbey with him was preposterous. Being back home would be wonderful and getting to see Carson again would be lovely, but the rest of it was inconceivable.

What would Matthew expect of her? To obey him? Was he looking for a companion, someone to spend time with and talk to? She knew he was lonely. With Mama in America and Sybil and Edith married off, he was entirely alone in that big house. Or did he expect something more? Was she to be his consort? That was her implied role surely when Richard bet her and Matthew agreed, wasn't it? How exactly would that work? Would they share the same bed, or would he merely come to her when he needed his desires to be sated? The very thought that he could use her like that sickened her even now.

She stared at the blank page of stationery. Seven times she had tried to write to him, to call the whole thing off, and she couldn't find the words. If she refused to go along with it, he wouldn't force her, would he? She barely recognized him anymore now, but he was still Matthew. He wasn't capable of being so merciless, was he?

She shook her head. Richard had already left for India. It was just her and the servants in this garish house with its outlandish décor and tacky ostentatiousness. She could call the police, she supposed, claim that Matthew was trying to kidnap her. But then there would be an investigation into what happened, and there were far too many skeletons that Richard did not want unearthed. No, she would have to face Matthew head-on.

A knock at the door surprised her.

"Yes, come in," she called.

"Your Ladyship," the maid nodded and curtseyed when she came into her study. "This was just delivered for you."

She frowned and took the letter. "Thank you. That will be all."

"Yes, Your Ladyship," the maid curtseyed again and left.

Mary cut open the letter and removed the note inside. She recognized Matthew's sharp handwriting immediately.

 _Cousin Mary,_

 _I trust this letter finds you well and that Sir Richard has informed you of our arrangement. My driver will be attending at Haxby at noon on Friday to bring you here. Luggage shall not be necessary as your needs will be provided for upon your arrival. Do not bring anything with you. Please also ensure that no staff accompanies you here. I have made arrangements for suitable assistance to be available to you during your stay._

 _Yours very truly,_

 _Matthew._

She read over the brief passage twice and frowned the more she read it. No luggage? No staff? Suitable arrangements? It all seemed so suspicious. There was no mention of any reprieve, or discussion of what would be required of her. Her stay. He made it sound as if she was taking a vacation. Her eyes narrowed as she put his letter down on the desk. Well, she may be required to spend a month with him but if he was looking for a submissive mistress, he was sorely mistaken.

She got up from the desk and left the study, walking briskly down the hall to her bedroom. Once there, she went over to her dressing room and stood in the centre, glancing around slowly at all of her clothes, from her nightgowns and lingerie to her evening gowns and shoes. She smiled as her confidence returned.

"We'll just see who survives the month, Lord Grantham," she proclaimed.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"My Lord, we expect Lady Mary shortly," Anna called, coming into the library.

Matthew folded his newspaper and set it down on the table. He crossed the room and nodded to Anna, following her out towards the Great Hall.

"Anna, I wanted to thank you again for agreeing to come back. You and Bates have been more generous than I could have hoped for," he mumbled.

Anna smiled and nodded. "It's quite all right, my Lord. We never blamed you for any of it. We're glad we can help, though I don't know how much help we'll be."

"You're already helping," he replied. "Seeing a familiar face will do wonders for her, and she'll have someone she can talk to, which will spare her having to talk to me."

Anna laughed. "I should think you wouldn't want her to spend the month gabbing away with me, Your Lordship."

"Honestly, Anna, I don't know what I want," he shook his head as they came into the Great Hall. "The first step is getting her here. We'll just have to take it day-by-day after that. Who knows? We may not say more than a few words to each other the entire time and just keep to our separate areas of the house."

Anna looked at him curiously. "My Lord, if that ends up being the case, then I would ask why you went to all the trouble of inviting her here to begin with."

"I suppose that's part of why she's here for the month, Anna," he said. "To find out why I want her here."

Anna smiled. "Yes, my Lord."

Matthew looked over the gathered staff briefly before nodding to them to head outside. It was slightly cool with Fall coming to an end and Winter just a few weeks away, but everyone lined up dutifully outside the front doors. Matthew took his spot next to Carson at the head of the row and waited.

The motor appeared in the distance, winding its way up the drive until it pulled around and stopped before them. He could see Mary sitting in the back, her eyes avoiding his and looking at the servants instead. Her face seemed to light up and she smiled when she saw Anna and Bates, and Matthew told himself that was a good sign.

The driver got out and came around to open the door for her.

Matthew stepped forward.

Mary emerged from the car and came to him, stopping a respectable distance away.

"Cousin Matthew," she nodded.

"Mary," he replied. "Welcome."

"Thank you," she nodded, glancing around. "It's nice to see the house again, and some friendly faces."

"I'm glad to hear it, and they are glad to see you. You can go inside with Anna and I'll have Carson and the driver take care of your bags," he told her.

She arched her eyebrow. "Your letter said not to bring any luggage."

He nodded. "It did, yes, but telling Lady Mary not to bring clothes with her when she travels is a fool's errand, I suspect. How many bags did you bring? Three?"

She allowed herself to smile. "Four."

He chuckled knowingly. "Well, I trust that at least you left your maid behind and any other staff from Haxby?"

She nodded. "That request I did comply with. I didn't think it necessary to bring part of Haxby here with me."

"Quite right," he said softly, finding her eyes. "For the next month, this is your home."

She met his gaze and nodded.

He stepped aside and Anna came forward, smiling and giving her former Mistress a curtsey.

"Milady," Anna nodded pleasantly.

"Hello, Anna. So good to see you," Mary grinned. "And your uniform still fits, I see."

"I didn't think that I'd ever wear it again," Anna acknowledged, glancing at Matthew. "But I'm proud to make an exception for this next month."

Mary smiled and followed her former Lady's maid into the house.

"So far, so good, my Lord," Bates smiled at Matthew as they watched the women go in.

"We've survived the arrival, Bates," Matthew nodded. "I won't know how well it's going until I see what happens tonight."

The valet nodded and headed for the door, walking slowly but surely with his cane at his side.

Matthew watched as Mary's luggage was brought inside. He looked up at the tall spires of Downton Abbey above him before he headed in. So much had changed since Mary left. So much more was still to come. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for whatever lay in store for them over this next month. With deliberate steps, the Earl of Grantham entered his home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Quite right," he said softly, finding her eyes. "For the next month, this is your home."

She met his gaze and nodded.

He stepped aside and Anna came forward, smiling and giving her former Mistress a curtsey.

"Milady," Anna nodded pleasantly.

"Hello, Anna. So good to see you," Mary grinned. "And your uniform still fits, I see."

"I didn't think that I'd ever wear it again," Anna acknowledged, glancing at Matthew. "But I'm proud to make an exception for this next month."

Mary smiled and followed her former Lady's maid into the house.

"So far, so good, my Lord," Bates smiled at Matthew as they watched the women go in.

"We've survived the arrival, Bates," Matthew nodded. "I won't know how well it's going until I see what happens tonight."

The valet nodded and headed for the door, walking slowly but surely with his cane at his side.

Matthew watched as Mary's luggage was brought inside. He looked up at the tall spires of Downton Abbey above him before he headed in. So much had changed since Mary left. So much more was still to come. He took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for whatever lie in store for them over this next month. With deliberate steps, the Earl of Grantham entered his home.

 **Chapter 2:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"My Lord? My Lord. Lord Grantham."

Matthew groaned and took a deep breath before opening his eyes. He blinked several times, glanced around to focus his vision and swallowed to clear the taste from his mouth. His back and neck ached a bit from having apparently fallen asleep in the chair by the fireplace. Stretching his arms out, he suddenly sat up straight when he looked up at the amused smile of his temporary valet.

"Bates!" Matthew exclaimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Just a few moments, my Lord," Bates nodded, extending his hand.

"God, I must have dozed off," Matthew mumbled, accepting the valet's hand and standing up. He covered his mouth with his hand just as he yawned rather loudly. "Crikey. Sorry."

"Not at all, my Lord," Bates smiled, going over to the dressing room to retrieve Matthew's clothes for dinner. "Mrs Hughes says that everything is on schedule for this evening."

"Good, good," Matthew nodded, going through to the ensuite bathroom and splashing his face water. He fixed his hair a little and looked at his reflection in the mirror, a slow smile creeping across his lips.

This afternoon had been fantastic.

Mary's arrival went as well as could be expected. He sensed some trepidation in her, and that was only natural given the circumstances of her stay here for the coming month. They had seen so little of each other since her wedding almost two years ago that the ease and comfort they used to share had been lost. Carson was right. Having Anna and Bates in the house helped make her more comfortable, and when she came down from her room to take a tour of the house with him, she was in better spirits, which only seemed to improve as the day went on.

He showed her the drawing room, where her father's portrait had been hung in honour next to the previous Earls of Grantham. She had seen it once before but never had a chance to truly look upon it. Not wanting to make her sad, he gently urged her on and showed her some of the improvements he'd done in the past while – the updated lighting, fixing some of the insulation so that the library wasn't so cold in the evenings, and renovations to the kitchens, including replacing the ageing stove and oven.

"My repairman mentioned that it was on its last legs," he explained to her when he showed her the new appliances. "It would have been quite embarrassing to have it give out in the middle of a dinner party."

She didn't say much during the tour, merely smiled and nodded as they went along. He could tell that she was impressed, however. Her eyes were bright as she took it all in, and every so often her mouth would twitch into a pleased smile before resuming her reserved countenance. They did not speak about Carlisle or the poker game, or mention what was to occur over the coming four weeks. He wanted her to get used to being back at Downton Abbey first, and for an afternoon at least, he had succeeded.

"Is Anna settled in to her former post?" Matthew asked, removing his shirt when Bates came into the bathroom with his evening tuxedo.

"We're both quite comfortable, my Lord," Bates replied, taking the shirt and hanging up the suit on the rack. "I understand that Lady Mary is quite pleased with her old room."

Matthew smiled. "Is she? That's welcome news."

"She probably feels as we do, my Lord," Bates nodded. "A bit like coming home, with a few welcome new additions."

Matthew nodded. He looked curiously at Bates when the valet brought over a fresh shirt and held it up.

"You know I've been managing on my own for a quite a while now, Bates," Matthew chided him.

"Humour me, my Lord," Bates answered. "For old times' sake."

Matthew shook his head and turned away, raising his arm so Bates could put the shirt on for him. "What about you, Bates? I've been remiss in asking about how you and Anna are getting on at the Grantham Arms."

"It's good honest work, my Lord," Bates replied easily. "We've had a lot of tourists come in from York and London over the summer. The place was filled to capacity most weekends."

"Good, good," Matthew nodded. "And what about those roof repairs? Were they taken care of?"

"They were, my Lord, thanks to you," Bates confirmed.

"There's no thanks necessary, Bates," Matthew scoffed. "It's the least I could do given what a mess I've made of things since Robert's passing."

Bates smiled knowingly. "My Lord, His Lordship was my Master, my comrade, and I like to think my friend also. With the utmost respect to his memory, my Lord, you've done more in nine months than he accomplished in the years that I've been here."

Matthew shook his head sadly, holding out his hand so that Bates could fasten his gold cufflinks. "That's kind of you to say, but I don't believe there's been nearly as much progress as you claim, particularly in certain areas. I also know that many would disagree with your assessment."

"Well, we'll just have to see what this month brings then, won't we, my Lord?" Bates suggested politely.

Matthew didn't reply, looking pensive as Bates went to fetch the rest of his suit.

* * *

"Oh, Anna, you have not lost your touch," Mary beamed, turning her head to admire her new hairstyle in the mirror. "I love it."

"It's a bit easier to work with shorter hair, Milady," Anna nodded, going over to the bed and collecting her Mistress' wrap.

Mary grinned, loving how the slightly curled waves of her hair were pinned back on one side, showing off her ear and the pale length of her neck, while the other side was straightened to fall elegantly down to her jawline. The black headband was hidden beneath her tresses so that it sat high on her forehead and contrasted beautifully with her dark blue dress.

"There, that's lovely," Anna declared, draping the silver wrap across Mary's bare shoulders.

Mary nodded in approval. "Tell me, Anna, how has everything been? I haven't been keeping up as much as I would have liked, I'm afraid."

Anna nodded in understanding. "Well, I understand that Lady Edith and Lady Sybil are both quite happy, Milady. There's talk at Loxley that they expect Lady Edith to be with child quite soon."

Mary blinked. She expected that her sister would want to have children, but given how old Sir Anthony was and his war injury, she couldn't be certain if that would ever happen for them. She found herself not nearly as bothered by the thought as she expected.

"I've heard from both of them," Mary nodded. "They seem to have settled into their lives quite well. Mama seems to be enjoying America, also. What about you, Anna? Is marriage agreeing with you?"

Anna blushed and looked down at the floor. "Very much, Milady."

Mary laughed, drawing a grin from her lady's maid. "I'm glad to hear it. I was afraid that you would struggle a bit after Mr Crawley's cull of the servants."

"He did what he thought was right and necessary, Milady," Anna shrugged. "Everyone who's left has found work. The Village has never been busier, actually. All the returning soldiers have been hired on to help with the new construction."

"The new construction?" Mary questioned. "Construction of what?"

"I don't quite know, Milady," Anna answered. "There's lots of work going on, though. Renovations to some of the stores, expanding the post office. We had the roof at the Grantham Arms fixed just last month."

"Where is Matthew getting the money for all of this, I wonder," Mary noted, more to herself than to Anna. She shook her head and smiled to her maid. "Well, I'm pleased to hear that the Village is thriving. It's been so long since I've been there. Sir Richard prefers to do our shopping in London, sadly."

Anna's smile left her face and she nodded politely before turning away and picking up Mary's discarded day clothes.

Mary swallowed tightly and looked away, the mere mention of her husband sobering her pleasant mood.

Both women looked up when they heard the dinner gong sound.

"Have a lovely dinner, Milady," Anna nodded.

"Thank you, Anna. I expect that I will," Mary replied before heading out to the hall.

* * *

Matthew stood at the foot of the stairs in the Great Hall, hands linked behind his back, eyes lost in the pattern of the carpet at his feet. Normally he would go straight through to the dining room for his evening meal, very rarely having guests over that required the usual routine of taking pre-dinner drinks in the parlour. Even then he would never wait in the Great Hall for anyone to come down, but tonight seemed to demand special treatment.

"Were you waiting for me?"

He looked up at the sound of Mary's voice. His eyes widened as she came down the stairs, a confident smile on her lips. Her blue gown swept down elegantly to her ankles, her black stockings visible as she descended. She wore long silver gloves and a silver wrap about her shoulders. Her hair was styled in a way he had never seen before, and as she reached him, the faint smell of vanilla and rosewater lingered in the air.

"Actually, I was just waiting for Bates. He forgot to give me my watch," he advised her.

She blinked in surprise.

He smirked at her, his eyes twinkling.

"Oh!" she rolled her eyes at his joke.

"After you, Mary," he nodded, bowing his head and motioning towards the parlour.

"Thank you. Now that I've come down, though, it seems that it's far warmer that I expected. It's not nearly as frigid in the evenings as it once was, thanks to your renovations."

He nodded and blinked in surprise when she turned away from him and raised her hands.

"Would you mind?" she asked, glancing back at him briefly before looking down.

"Not at all," he replied, reaching out and taking hold of her wrap. The silk was smooth beneath his fingers, the thin material allowing him to feel the warmth of her skin. He eased the garment off of her, unveiling the creamy expanse of her shoulders and back as he went. His eyes widened as he discovered that her dress swept down to the middle of her spine, giving him a full view of her porcelain complexion, from the nape of her neck, across her bare shoulders and arms and down her back. His hands fell to her waist, his fingers twitching as if they were reaching out to take hold of her hips.

"Thank you," she nodded, turning around and stepping away from him. "Shall we?"

He blinked and looked up at her smug expression. Nodding, he turned and escorted her through to the parlour, not saying a word until he accepted a glass of water from Carson.

* * *

"So there I was, stirring my scrambled eggs, quite looking forward to having a scrumptious breakfast, when I sensed someone behind me. I turned around and there standing in the doorway, brandishing a broom like a weapon, was a bewildered Mrs Patmore," Matthew chuckled.

Mary laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. When she finally calmed herself, she took a sip of wine and shook her head. "Goodness, what a sight that must have been for the both of you!"

"She was already changed into her uniform, thankfully, but the look on her face was quite priceless," he agreed.

"And what did she say when she found her Lord and Master trespassing in her kitchen at 5 o'clock in the morning?" Mary asked teasingly.

He smiled. "You know her. It was something along the lines of 'Your Lordship! What in the bloody hell are you doing here?'"

She laughed anew at his imitation of the old cook, doing nothing to cover her mouth this time.

He smiled and went back to slicing his asparagus. "Anyway, for the next week, my breakfast was ready hours ahead of time. I had to tell Mrs Hughes to have her back off a bit and also I promised to stay out of the kitchens."

She grinned and took a bite of her chicken.

"Everyone's quite pleased to see you back," he noted.

She swallowed and took another sip of wine. "It's been good to see everyone, though it will take some getting used to having so few of the staff still around."

"Well, I don't need very much help," he muttered. "I think this is the first time there's been the need to set two places for dinner in quite a while. Usually, it's just me."

"Mama mentioned to me that she has to almost bribe you to host a proper dinner," she nodded. "The Earl of Grantham has a duty to the county, you know. It's important that you maintain proper relations with your neighbours."

"I'm quite fine with the way things currently stand with my neighbours," he stated drily. "Most of them anyway."

She swallowed, regretting the reference to Haxby immediately. "Even still, I'm sure that many people would enjoy an evening at Downton," she recovered.

"You're probably right," he conceded. "I did promise your Mama and Granny that we would have a proper Christmas party this year."

"That's wonderful," she smiled, recalling so many happy Christmases of her past.

"You'll have to help me find a proper tree," he smiled, reaching for his wine. "I can never tell when one is too short or too tall."

She blinked. "Ah. Well, we will be spending all of December in London, I expect. Winter Season is quite busy for us."

"Ah," he grunted. "Hosting plenty of parties, are you?"

Her stomach fell. "Yes. It's a bit of a tradition. Richard likes to host his colleagues as a bit of a thank you and celebration of all they've achieved over the year."

"How generous of him," he said tightly, keeping his eyes on his plate.

She cringed for a moment. "Yes. Quite generous."

The silence was broken when Carson came back into the dining room.

"My Lord, dessert is ready," the butler announced.

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew nodded. "We're done with these."

Mary smiled politely as a footman cleared their plates and wine glasses. Her eyes widened when a delicate bowl was placed before her filled with layers of custard, jelly, vanilla cake, strawberries, raspberries and elderberries and topped with a touch of whipped cream.

"For dessert…trifle," Carson announced.

Mary grinned when the butler came over and poured sherry over the dessert. As children, she and her sisters would sometimes go down to the kitchens and sample the latest confections. Edith and Sybil preferred cookies and cakes, but her favourite was always Mrs Patmore's trifle. Unlike traditional English trifle, the Downton Abbey version included berries picked from bushes on the grounds, and no matter how often Mary had the dessert at restaurants or even made for her at Haxby, nothing compared to this.

Matthew nodded to Carson and the butler took his leave.

She eagerly took up her dessert spoon and stirred the top layer a bit to let the sherry sonk in. Taking a small bite, she couldn't help but hum in pleasure at the familiar taste, so many memories flooding back as the flavours filled her mouth.

He watched her eat, smiling at the delight on her face. After so many years, he could easily tell the difference between all the facades she used to guard her emotions. She was capable of smiling and laughing and feeling nothing inside, putting up a veneer to Society that was all an illusion. Now, though, her eyes were lit and her smile uninhibited and free as she feasted on the trifle. It was a small moment, but he took it as progress and went back to enjoying his dessert.

* * *

"Shall we go through? I expect you don't take cigars," she smiled at him.

He chuckled. "No, I don't. We can always just stay in here. There's only the two of us."

She arched her eyebrow. "That's true, but we ought to go through just the same. We can make ourselves more comfortable."

He paused, gauging her words and her expression. If this was just a normal dinner between cousins, he wouldn't hesitate, but it was far more than that. The weight of the evening seemed to grow the longer the night went on. During the day it was easy to distract themselves with touring the house and talking about nothing. Dinner was delicious and put them both at ease, but now going through meant there was only one last step before it was time for them to retire.

Her suggestion that they make themselves comfortable seemed anything but innocent. Being with her here in the dining room reminded him of their first kiss so long ago on the night that Sybil snuck off to that blasted by-election. They had sandwiches and strawberries back then, rather than the four-course meal of tonight, but part of him wanted to relive those emotions, go back to a time when everything was so much easier between them and they were far more at ease with each other. For a brief time, it had worked.

"My Lord," Carson called, coming back in. "Will you be taking port?"

He blinked at the interruption and kept his eyes on Mary as he replied.

"We'll take our drinks in the sitting room, Carson. We were just going through," he answered.

She smiled, her eyes remaining on his for a long moment before she turned to the butler.

"Carson, you can dismiss the staff for the evening. I'll take care of his Lordship," she instructed.

Both Carson and Matthew looked at her in surprise.

"If that should suit you, my Lord?" Carson recovered.

"Yes, Carson," Matthew nodded, watching Mary carefully. "Lady Mary does still remember where the bar is, I expect."

Mary grinned.

"Very good, my Lord. My Lady," Carson bowed.

"Good night, Carson," Matthew called.

"Good night, Carson," Mary smiled.

The butler left and Mary rose from the table, Matthew automatically standing up in response.

"After you," he gestured to the door.

She nodded and went through ahead of him.

* * *

Her hands shook as she poured her sherry. Matthew was standing across the room, facing away from her and looking out the window. There was a full moon tonight and the grounds were bathed in a bright silver glow that seemed to stretch for miles. When she was in London, Richard liked to keep a small staff, so it was up to her to bring him his Scotch in the evenings. He would often take it in his study and dismiss her soon after. Preparing his drink was a frustrating task. It always had to be the right year, just the right amount, poured in the right glass.

Matthew was far less discerning, but taking drinks with him made her even more nervous.

It wasn't as if she didn't know what he expected of her. He was a man, after all. When they were younger and unattached, he was respectful and kind. Even after they kissed and he proposed to her, he treated her as a gentleman all throughout that summer. They danced together at Sybil's debut and kissed under the stars but he never demanded anything of her. Another man in his position could have been far more of a rogue. Brought to Yorkshire as her father's heir, he could have demanded she submit to him right from the off as compensation to save her family. He could have been a monster and required tribute from all three of the Crawley sisters. After all, he would be the head of the family one day no matter his transgressions.

He was a perfect gentleman, far better than any other suitor she knew, in more ways than one.

But that was then. Now he was a man with needs and he had won a month of her companionship in a poker game. The very thought would have enraged her if she hadn't already been peddled by Richard numerous times before.

But this was Matthew.

She shivered a bit mixing his whisky and water. She had dismissed Carson and the footman to give them more privacy. It wouldn't be out of the ordinary to the servants to see her and Matthew go up together at the end of the night, but she had no idea of what he had planned for her now. Years ago, it would have seemed entirely out of character for him to even speak intimately with her in the sitting room, but they were always around family back then. Tonight it was just the two of them.

She didn't know how she felt about that.

Whether it was due to the dark lure of behaving inappropriately or something else, she felt arousal stir in her chest. Something about the moonlight made tonight feel strange, almost as if they were living in a dream world. She imagined him turning away from the window, his eyes a fiery red, leering at her covetously. He would snatch her up and tear off her clothes, shove her against the window and ravish her like a beast taking his mate. Or maybe he wanted to cement their roles as owner and slave, sip his drink while he sat before the fire, with her on her knees pleasing him with her mouth like a whore.

She swallowed and shook her head. Picking up the glasses, she put on her bravest smile and stepped towards him.

"Here we are," she called, steadying her voice.

"Thank you," he nodded, taking the glass and raising it to her.

She nodded and sipped her sherry a bit more quickly than normal.

"I don't often come in here, as you can imagine," he smiled, savouring the taste of the drink. "This is quite good."

She felt a silly sort of pride fill her at his compliment. "How do you usually spend your evenings after dinner?"

She hoped that wasn't nearly as forward as it sounded.

"I'm usually in the library or the study," he shrugged. "There's always something that requires my attention, it seems."

"Is work keeping you busy?" she asked, pleased that the conversation was retreating to safer ground.

"Yes and no," he shook his head. "I've been keeping part-time hours lately. The Estate takes up much of my time, so I only go into Ripon a few days a week."

"Your partners must be quite understanding to allow such an arrangement," she noted.

"They are, but they don't really have a choice," he smiled. "There're not very many lawyers around these days, and I'm rather settled in the firm after so many years. It would be quite difficult for them to get rid of me."

She smiled.

"I was thinking that we could take a drive tomorrow," he continued. "I need to visit some of the tenants and I'd enjoy the company."

She blinked in surprise. "I don't think I've visited the tenants since I was a little girl."

"All the more reason for you to come along," he nodded. "I think some of the farmers might enjoy seeing one of the family. They aren't overly impressed with me, I'm afraid."

"They just need some time to get used to you being the Earl," she sympathized.

"Don't we all?" he mumbled, taking another sip of his drink.

"Shall we sit?" she asked, glancing over at the sofa. "I imagine being on your feet all the time can't be good for your back."

He smiled and nodded. "It's much better these days, actually. I try and keep up with my exercises and it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it once did."

"That must be a relief," she noted, shuddering a bit at the recollection of Matthew's war injuries. The image of him lying on that gurney bloodied and bruised would be with her forever.

"All that's left are the scars," he remarked.

She detected the bitterness in his voice. "Well, it's a small price to pay given all that you've been through. You've already defied the medical world. There's no need to be greedy."

He looked at her suspiciously for a moment, appraising her words before he nodded and chuckled. "You're probably right. I think the only reason I haven't been written up as a case study yet is because it would be terribly embarrassing for poor Clarkson."

She laughed. "He likely has more than his fair share of problems to add your mistaken diagnosis to the mix. Let's not go and hurt his reputation any further."

He smiled at her playful expression.

* * *

She downed the Cognac is one gulp, cringing as the smooth liquor warmed her throat. Anna hadn't said anything when she ordered that a glass be brought up. She didn't know what Matthew had told the staff about why she was here for a month, but Anna was wise enough to not say anything. She had prepared for bed as she always did, but after dismissing her lady's maid, she removed her nightgown and changed into a decidedly more revealing black lace slip that barely went down to her mid-thigh. Standing before the mirror in the flimsy shift and matching garters and stockings, she hoped the Cognac would settle her nerves and give her enough courage to go through with her plan.

When she and Matthew retired, not a word was spoken about her coming to his bedroom, or he to hers. They went upstairs together and he bid her goodnight before turning towards the opposite wing. Even as Earl of Grantham he had never moved to the family side of the house. She imagined he kept the same Spartan room he used in the past.

If she remained here and waited for him to arrive, she would drive herself mad. Better to just get this over with. They were the only two people upstairs after Anna and Bates retired. This was but the first night of many that she would be spending under the same roof as him. There was no point trying to pretend that she was here for any legitimate purpose. Richard had told her that he bet a weekend of her time and Matthew demanded a month. Why would he do that if he wasn't intending to enjoy her thoroughly?

She turned away from the mirror and paced, hoping the liquor would take effect faster. The very idea that she would be wagered away by her own husband was abhorrent, but she had stopped trying to understand his maniacal ways long ago. To Richard, she was an asset, such as a tool or a weapon, something he used to achieve his goals. He took advantage of her beauty and smile to disarm his rivals, her laugh and touch to appease his colleagues, and her kiss and body to buy power. The idea of her sharing a bed with Matthew didn't bother Richard in the slightest because it was all his idea. In his twisted mind, he was in control, even now. Why should he care if another man touched his wife when he was the one who was granting them permission?

She shook her head, trying to banish the thought. When she married Richard, she did not expect passion to be part of their marriage, and he had not disappointed her in that regard. They seldom shared the room, let alone the same bed, each of them remaining at opposite ends of Haxby. She imagined he saw himself as an English ruler from another time, keeping his wife in another part of the house, content to spend time with her when he wanted and ignoring her otherwise. It was an arrangement that worked for her. She hated feeling his eyes on her, let alone his hands or any other part of him.

She rubbed her hands together despite it being comfortably warm in the bedroom. Was that Richard's ultimate trump card? Was he confident that Matthew wouldn't want to even touch her, knowing that she'd already ruined herself? It was one thing for him to tell her that he didn't despise her for her night with Kemal Pamuk. She had been coerced and preyed upon, and he couldn't hate her for that. What she did for Richard though, as far as Matthew was concerned, was entirely consensual, including being here now. She didn't know if she could stand it if Matthew treated her as uncaringly as other men had.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, telling herself to quit being so naïve and stupid. This was straightforward and need not be clouded by useless sentiment. She was Matthew's for the month. Their history didn't matter. It meant nothing now. He would command. She would obey. That was all there was to it.

She marched for the door and went out into the hall, making her way determinedly to the gallery and Matthew's wing. If he wanted her to take the initiative, she would. If he preferred that she act like the innocent and obedient student, she could be that. Keep him happy and take heart in spending the month in her family home with Richard far away. That would have to be enough.

Not quite sure of which room was his, she went from door-to-door, frowning as she found one after another unoccupied. She hadn't been to this part of the house in ages, and her fierce bravado in coming to a man's bedroom waned the longer it took for her to actually find said man.

Eventually, she was down to one last room, which had an open door at the end of the hall. Of course, he would choose that one. It was the largest and most isolated one on this side of the house. A faint light came from inside as she slowly approached. Swallowing, she kept her robe closed tight about her. May as well leave something to his imagination, if only in the beginning.

"Matthew," she called, trying to sound sultry despite her heart hammering in her chest. She stepped into the room. Her boldness would catch him by surprise. Her lingerie would do the rest. What man could resist?

A man who wasn't here, apparently.

She frowned at the empty bed and the deserted room. Going over to the far side, she checked his dressing room and even looked in his bathroom. He was nowhere to be found.

Coming back out into the bedroom, she crossed her arms over her front, now feeling annoyed that he was missing. Here she was, having put on scandalous lingerie and walked all the way over here to have a liaison with him and he didn't even have the good sense to be in his bedroom? The nerve!

Now that her tryst was deterred, she took a moment to look around the room. It had obviously been renovated since he moved in, the addition of a bathroom one of the main changes. She was impressed by how much he had done around the house. The ensuite attached to her own bedroom was elegant and well-appointed, and somehow the water pressure in the shower was superior to what she had at Haxby.

Matthew's bedroom was as she expected – functional and warm. The hardwood floor was covered with a soft rug, all of the furniture was stained with a dark cherry finish, and the walls were painted a soothing navy blue. A large mirror was hung on the dresser facing the four-poster bed, and there were books neatly stacked on the nightstand. She smiled, picturing him sitting up in bed reading a story before falling asleep. She went over and ran her fingers along the leather bound spines of the volumes, seeing familiar titles that she knew he enjoyed – _The Three Musketeers_ , _Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_ and _A Tale of Two Cities_. Her mouth fell open when she saw the book sitting out apart from the others – _Married Love_ by Marie Stopes.

She stared at the book with wide eyes, glancing over at his bed involuntarily. The controversial tome became infamous for its frank and explicit discussion of the needs of a man and a woman in the marriage bed. While speaking of such things, let alone publishing thoughts on the subject, was shunned by Society, Mary knew plenty of women who owned a copy of this very book, including herself. The lessons contained therein served her no use in her own marriage, but she was stunned to see that Matthew not only had one of his own, but had clearly read it.

Her mind raced over her recollection of the more racy chapters. She remembered one in particular, speaking about the fascination of men with prostitutes, and how while the practice ought to be condemned, the underlying motivation – that married men wanted to feel the thrill of an eager and willing woman – should be encouraged and understood.

She blushed fiercely and backed away, feeling awkwardly uncomfortable with this discovery. It felt as though she was violating Matthew's trust in uncovering this secret, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it. Even after admitting to him that she was no longer pure, they had never discussed his past conquests. She was certain that he had never slept with Lavinia, but she had no idea about his escapades back in Manchester or in France during the war. Truly, she didn't care. It was expected that men got up to all manner of adventures prior to marriage.

Seeing the book at his bedside made her think of him in a different light. Why had he obtained a copy of the book? It clearly was not available from her family's library. Was he curious as to what all the fuss and controversy was about? It would be just like him to want to read the book from an academic point of view. Or, was it something more basic than that? Did he want to read it hoping to get instructions?

She frowned and slowly made her way out of his bedroom and down the hall, wandering in a daze, her mind still reeling from what she'd found. If Matthew was still a virgin, it didn't change her opinion of him. He was a good man. She was sure of it, regardless of however many romps he'd had in the past if any at all. Years ago when they were courting, she never was afraid of him. Late in the evening in the safety of her bedroom, she sometimes fantasized about what their wedding night would be like. In her dreams, he was always kind and considerate, far more gentle with her than Pamuk had been. She did not equate gentleness with weakness. Even before he went off to war, she saw him as strong and fit. Something about his determined and relentless nature made her believe he would be a wonderful lover.

As she crossed the darkened gallery and returned to the Family Wing, warring emotions battled inside of her. If he was truly inexperienced and was looking for guidance in _Married Love_ , she found that rather adorable. Even if his motivation for bringing her here was to finally experience the bliss of lying with a woman, she wasn't particularly insulted by that. It was a bizarre sort of compliment that he would choose her to share such a precious moment with.

If however, he had more than enough experience and was reading the book to gain more insight into the woman's perspective, she found such meticulousness so very him, and entirely exciting. Had he gone to all of that trouble to ensure she had as much pleasure as possible during their month together? It was presumptuous of him, of course, but then this entire situation was. He had bought her off of her husband for a month. It wasn't completely insane to think that he wanted to be well-prepared.

She returned to her bedroom, no longer thinking about where he had disappeared to. Trying to decipher who Matthew was as a lover vexed her completely. A sudden jolt made her stop, her eyes widening as a thought flashed through her mind.

What if Matthew hadn't read the book with her in mind?

Alarm rose up from her stomach, her pulse jumping. In addition to preaching about how men and women should be equal in the bedroom, _Married Love_ went into detail about contraception, and how to separate the pleasure of sex from the act of conceiving children. What if Matthew had a much more nefarious purpose in mind for the knowledge he gained? What if he wanted to understand women so he was better equipped on how to seduce them and ensure there were no unwanted consequences?

What if he had no expectation of love at all?

She undid her robe and tossed it on to a chair, readying herself for bed. In her frazzled state, she didn't even consider changing out of her lingerie, shuffling around towards her bed. She turned off the lights and stood in the darkness, perplexed by ideas that she did not want to consider.

Matthew was a man. A man with needs. He had a duty to produce an heir to carry on her family line, but he was currently unattached. As one of the few aristocrats to survive the War and now with an Earldom attached to his name, he could have any woman he wanted. After she married Richard, she had numerous friends who had surreptitiously inquired as to Matthew's bachelor status. The thought of another woman being Countess of Grantham and having Matthew's children disgusted her, but she had accepted it as a reality long ago.

She had never contemplated the idea of him having sex with other women purely for his own pleasure, or thought him capable of sleeping with a woman and not caring about her.

She closed her eyes and covered her face with her hand. What was she doing? This entire affair had ambushed her so thoroughly that she seemed to be thrown off by every new development. No matter what transpired over this month, she always assumed that deep down, once all the machinations and pretence was stripped away, no matter what lies they told each other to get through, she and Matthew would love each other properly. They only had one month, and the manner in which they were put together brought on its own complications, but in the moment when they were alone together, they would be Mary and Matthew, the people they always truly were, and they would love each other.

Never did she think that he was capable of deception or selfishness, not when it came to her. If desire moved him to gamble for her, that was both understandable and acceptable. He refused to fight for her before, for them, and she had married another man. For this month, they could be together and keep the rest of the world at bay.

Unless he brought her here for an entirely different reason. Unless he brought her here to exact his revenge.

She swallowed and went over to the window, looking up at the full moon overhead. Was that it? Was this finally payback for rejecting his proposal? Was she only here for him to sate his ego, to show her what she was missing, what she could never have? Was this all about domination for him? Of her for leaving? Of Richard for taking her away? Did he actually not care about her at all?

She closed her eyes and sobbed. How was she ever going to survive the month?

She opened her eyes and leaned her head on the window, pursing her lips to hold back her tears. Perhaps it was better this way. He was using her for her body, just like any other man. He wasn't special, and neither was she. She was doing her duty to her husband, paying his debt, and once the month was over, she would leave and go back to Haxby and all of this would be forgotten. This wasn't a return to better days. This wasn't a private reunion. It was business, and nothing more.

She took a deep breath. She would smile, laugh and flirt with Matthew, play her role and do all that he asked.

She would give him his money's worth.

When she was just about to drag herself to bed and go to sleep, she noticed a movement just below her window. Looking down, she frowned, the moonlight making it easy to see everything below.

Matthew walked deliberately across the grass, the silver light glowing all around him. He came to a stop a short distance away from the house, in full view of her bedroom window.

What was he doing?

She frowned as she watched him. He raised his arms and stretched, turned this way and that. He was quite limber, she noted. Though the moon shone across the grounds, she was confident that she was hidden from view. For one, he was facing away from her. As well, she was slightly hidden by the drapes beside her.

Her mouth fell open when she saw him turn to the side and take off his shirt.

Even at a distance, she could make out the sculpted frame of his body. He bent over to stretch his legs, and she noticed that he wasn't wearing dress trousers anymore. He had changed into shorts and high socks, like some kind of football kit. Even his shoes appeared to be cleated boots, rather than the patent leather wingtips he wore to dinner. She wondered what ever was going on when he moved.

He began running.

Back and forth he went, and she watched mesmerized by the scene. He sprinted some fifty yards across the field, put his hand down on the ground, only to immediately turn around and sprint back. She lost count after ten laps, and though he slowed with every pass, he kept on, pumping his arms and pushing forward, running himself seemingly to exhaustion.

Her mind worked at the same speed as his legs, searching for some explanation. He must not have been in his bedroom tonight because he was in the house gymnasium. She had seen it briefly during their tour earlier. He had replaced the floor, put mirrors on the walls and added numerous contraptions that she had never seen before. There were large dumbbells, a bench press, a leg press, and a rowing machine. After spending the past while in the gym, he had now come outside to run.

She swallowed, realizing that she had been holding her breath. He must have had no intention of coming to her tonight at all.

She backed away from the window and went to bed, the vision of him running shirtless across the field remaining with her. Closing her eyes, she took a harsh breath, her pulse leaping as her imagination took over.

Strength. Power. Had she not always sensed that in him? And here it was, before her very eyes. Her fingers tugged at her slip, raising it to her waist. One hand reached up and cupped her breast through the thin silk, teasing herself. The other moved easily past her knickers and between her legs. She gasped out loud at the feel of her obvious arousal. Turning her head against the pillow, she grit her teeth as she played with herself wantonly, everything that transpired tonight came together in her mind in a burst of colour, morphing into imaginary fantasies that made her moan aloud.

 _Matthew making her ride him on the sofa in the sitting room, the fire dancing across her naked flesh._

 _Matthew taking her in her own bed, pinning her arms above her head as his hips overwhelmed her._

 _Matthew tying her to the bed post of his bed on her hands and knees, ravishing her from behind while she screamed her pleasure._

The rare times that she gave herself relief at Haxby, it was always pleasant, but muted. She seldom felt the need, sleep being far more important to her than any other pursuits. As her fingers pressed harder into her flesh, she could feel her release rushing forth, and it felt nothing like when she was at Haxby.

"Matthew," she gasped, the precipice drawing closer and closer.

Some part of her mind spoke up to try and stop her, its voice sounding like a desperate plea.

 _You can't be with him._

 _He doesn't love you._

 _He only wants to use you._

She drowned out her conscience with a frantic moan and sent herself flying to the vision of fierce blue eyes.

 **Coulter Farm, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary smiled as she sat back, the wind rushing past her. She sometimes feared that her hat might blow off, but she didn't care. Matthew's AC automobile was a snappy chariot. When she came outside this morning and saw it, she wondered where the rest of it was, seeing the missing roof. Matthew assured her it was safe and off they went. She had seen convertible autos in London, of course, often driven by a rich man with a pretty young thing sitting beside him. She refused to wonder who else Matthew had squired around in his shiny car, and instead enjoyed the sensation of flying down the country roads.

"Coulter hasn't farmed this property in 20 years," Matthew explained, slowing down and pulling into the gravel drive leading to a vast farm. "Prior to the War, he struggled to pay the rent, which was too low anyway. During the War, he stopped paying altogether. What's worse, there's been no investment. You'll see that the buildings are rather ramshackle from neglect."

She frowned. "And why are we here? To collect on his arrears?"

"No," he smiled, pulling the car up to the farm house and stopping. "I wanted you to see the place for yourself so you can understand the state of things."

She looked about suspiciously as he got out and came around to her door. Accepting his hand, she got out of the car and released him, keeping her hands linked in front of her as they headed off to tour the property. As they went, she had to admit that he was right. The barn looked like it might collapse at a moment's notice. The roof on the farmhouse and the stables had large, gaping holes in them and even the areas where they walked were overrun with weeds and untrimmed grass. Even for a farm, it was a sorry sight.

"This is actually one of the nicer looking ones," he muttered, looking at her pointedly on the way back up to the farmhouse. "Other properties are even worse. Not to mention the price for crops is so depressed at the moment that even the well-run farms are barely pulling in anything."

"If Papa was here, he would say that you can't abandon people just because they grow old," she stated, arching her eyebrow at him. "I don't mean to pull rank, Matthew. You are the Earl. These are your lands. However, Downton isn't a city business. There are people, many people, who depend on you. You cannot simply evict them for failure to pay rent."

"Even though the law says that I can?" he asked, walking up the rickety porch and unlocking the door.

"Yes, we, well, you, have a moral duty to look after the welfare of these people," she noted, joining him at the door.

He smiled at her. "I agree."

He nodded towards the house.

She looked at him curiously and stepped inside.

The farmhouse was deserted, all signs of the Coulter family that once lived here gone. The walls were bare, there were no rugs on the floor and the only furniture that remained was a large table. She walked up to the table and frowned. Spread out on the worn surface was a large map with numerous coloured pins sticking out of it. Looking over the various lines and labels, she found Downton Abbey, the Village and numerous farms, including this one.

"What's this?" she asked, looking over at Matthew.

"That is the future," he replied, coming up beside her. "This is a current map of all of the properties that comprise our family estate. I keep a copy here because it's easier than going back up to the big house whenever I'm touring the farms and want to check on something. The red pins represent the cottages that were renovated and restored."

"Thanks to you," she nodded.

"Maybe a little thanks to me," he smiled. "The green pins represent the tenant farms."

"And the black pins?" she asked, noticing another colour.

He smiled. "Those are the farms that I've taken back from the tenants."

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"After the War, numerous families have continued to suffer," he explained. "Some, like the Coulters, lost their sons in France or another land, and haven't been able to maintain any semblance of production. Others, like the Taylors, don't make enough money on their crops to sustain them going forward. I've met with these families and moved them to cottages. I'm going to get people in here who will work the land as it should be worked."

"You threw them out of their homes?" she exclaimed, staring at him in disbelief.

"No, not at all," he shook his head. "They're living in the cottages free of charge. Those that are able will continue to work as labourers, either on the farms or in the Village, and make a decent wage to support their families. I'm going to convert some of these farms away from grain and other crops that don't make any money and repurpose them for livestock instead. The market is more robust for pigs, for example, and we have more than enough land to support such endeavours."

She stared at him incredulously. "And how are you financing these plans? With what remains of Mama's money? Is this yet another gamble you're taking?"

Her mouth tightened from the accusation, but she held firm. His proposed changes sounded ambitious but expensive. She was afraid that if his gambit did not pay off, her family would be left land poor like so many others.

"Your Mama's money remains in the estate, devoted to the upkeep and maintenance of Downton, the Dower House and Crawley House," he replied easily. "But you're right. I had to find additional funds to support my plans."

"And where exactly did you find them?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing.

"When Robert passed away, I was finally able to sit down and go over the estate books and records. I never had any desire to do so before, even though I probably should have. That was how I discovered the sorry state of affairs over the tenant rents," he nodded.

"Yes, and?" she prompted him.

"Your father had numerous investments both here and abroad," he continued. "The payment of his death duties necessitated that I cash some of them in, but I also reviewed the entire portfolio. Suffice it to say, Robert had purchased a number of extremely volatile stocks in the hopes of hitting the jackpot. I put a stop to all that."

She frowned. While it hurt to hear her talk of her father's failings, she had to admit that she wasn't surprised.

"Thankfully, the capital in Robert's portfolio was quite substantial," he went on. "The proceeds covered payment of the death duties and I was able to reinvest the remainder into safer companies here at home, with Murray's help. The income generated from these investments is helping to pay for my plans, and we're also benefitting from some government grants since we're employing returning soldiers and so on. There's still some risk, and it is possible that things may not work out, but better to take our chance now while we still have the funds to commit to it, than sit idly by and watch it all fall apart."

She looked back at the map, seeing a pattern based on the coloured pins now that she knew what they represented. Matthew's farms covered a central block of the lands. She could see how that made it easier to move trucks, equipment and men from one property to another, and on to the main roads and off to market. There was a design and order to it all that screamed Matthew – meticulously conceptualized, properly structured and wonderfully efficient.

"I see," she said, nodding slowly. "You were right. You have been busy."

He smiled. "Well, it is all mine, and mine alone now. I owe it to everyone – the family, your Papa, all the past Earls – to make an honest go of it."

"It seems quite a lot of work," she noted, taking in the entire map. "Wouldn't it just be easier to find a rich American heiress to marry?"

She smiled at him but he didn't quite return it.

"Oh, I don't know," he replied. "Finding the right woman isn't as easy as it may seem. Besides, what I have to offer may not suit everyone."

She dropped her smile and looked back at the map.

"Let's get going," he called, turning for the door. "There's one more farm to visit, and I've arranged lunch for us in the Village."

He held the door open for her and she walked past, her leather boots thumping on the old floorboards. Soon they were on their way, and their easy banter returned as he explained to her how the next farm had a larger field that might support cattle.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Nine…Ten…" Matthew groaned through clenched teeth, grunting as he curled his arm and raised the dumbbell towards his shoulder, paused and lowered it back down. He let out a long breath and put the weights back on the metal rack, leaning on it for a moment to catch his breath and wait until he felt confident he could walk without falling over.

Finally turning away from the weights, he grabbed a towel and threw it over his shoulder, slowly walking around the gym as he waited for his pulse to ease up. These late evening workouts were part of his routine, but ever since Mary arrived yesterday, they gave him a convenient escape after he escorted her upstairs.

The second day of her visit had gone even better than the first. They spoke more easily, some of the reservation and restraint that he saw upon her arrival had broken down, and there were moments where he saw the real Mary shine through. Taking her to the farms and telling her his modernization plans was risky. After all, her ties with Downton were tenuous, and she had no say on its future. Still, he knew that she cared about what became of her father's legacy and her family home, and he was determined to show her that he cared about those things, too.

When he first arrived so many years ago he was young and a bit brash, so quick to complain about the yoke of the Earldom and how he couldn't see himself living this life. He soon realized that while he was being forthright, he was also trampling over the only home she had ever known, and paying disrespect to the valiant efforts of his ancestors before him. He had disowned Downton more than once in the intervening years when he took back his proposal to her and went off to War, but now he and the big house were back together, and truly, it was all he had.

He wiped his brow and wandered out and down the hall, taking the servant's stairs up to his bedroom. Being with Mary for just this brief time had been wonderful. Just getting to eat with her, to talk to her, and have her pay him her full attention brought him back to a better day, a simpler time when things weren't so complicated, either between them or in the world at large.

When she came downstairs after taking her breakfast tray in her room, she was wearing her hunting outfit. The familiar plaid skirt, matching jacket and hat made him smile. He didn't think that she deliberately wore it just for him, but she must have known he would remember the last time he saw it – at the New Year's Shoot a year ago when they both had a good laugh at her husband's expense. It was wrong of him to lie so she could stand with him during the first drive, but seeing Carlisle stalk off with a petulant schoolboy was priceless. She had thanked him for his intervention and he even hit a bird, making her laugh and applaud in surprise.

And after that, she left him for another man.

 _'The awful truth is he's starting to get on my nerves…'_

 _'You still married him, though.'_

 _'Of course. Why wouldn't I have?'_

He instantly thought of numerous reasons, but it was too late. There was no getting out of a marriage for her kind of people. He knew she wasn't happy, knew it even before she went ahead with the marriage, knew it now. Even still, what was done was done.

By the time they had lunch in the Village, she was peppering him with questions. How many pigs would be in the first swine, how many cattle in the first herd? Had he considered showing off the animals in fairs around the county to raise their profile and draw more bids at auction? Who was handling his investments in London? Was it wise to leave it all with Murray? Had he considered reinvesting in the New World now that the War was over?

He answered her every query and discussed a few more ideas with her over tea and sandwiches. People looked at them curiously – what was Lady Mary Carlisle doing having lunch with the Earl of Grantham? Being cousins, they avoided too much scrutiny, and they didn't even care anyway. Their conversation was too animated, and their time together was too much fun to worry about gossip or rumour mongers.

A part of him hoped word would reach Carlisle all the way back in India. He knew the man had spies everywhere, which was why he didn't want any servants coming over to Downton with Mary. Let Carlisle hear about his wife being seen spending time with dear Cousin Matthew, and let him stew wondering what was going on behind the walls of Downton Abbey where his claws couldn't reach.

Arriving at his bedroom, he went through to the bathroom and ran the shower. He tossed his towel socks, shorts, shirt and underwear into the hamper and stepped into the glass closet, bracing his hands against the wall as the water rained down on him. Sufficiently soaked, he took up the soap and scrubbed himself clean, the day's dirt and his workout sweat rinsed away.

The week before Mary's arrival, he had pondered just how they would spend the month of her stay. He still could not believe that Carlisle would wager his own wife like some pile of chips, but he was quite certain that when the man explained to Mary what had happened, he would have embellished the details enough to make her question his motives. They barely trusted each other as it was, time and separation having weakened their once irresistible bond. If he had any chance of giving her a respite from her life this month, he needed to rebuild that trust and overcome whatever obstacles Carlisle had put between them.

Besides that, however, he looked back at his own behaviour during the poker game and wasn't entirely pleased with what he found. He was well aware of Tony's infatuation with Mary since childhood, so the man despicably jumping at the chance to spend a weekend with another man's wife wasn't surprising. He told himself that he had joined in to try and save Mary from such a fate, and he had succeeded against the odds, but was he truly being so gallant?

A true gentleman would have won the bet and graciously rejected the prize. He could have scolded Carlisle for being so vile and not compelled Mary to follow through on the bet. Having that hanging over the man's head would have been the sweetest justice. But he didn't do that.

A savvy gambler would have turned around and bet the month with Mary against Carlisle's money. Let him pay for his insolence with the one thing he loved most. Even one as dishonourable as Carlisle would not have turned down such an offer to keep his wife out of Matthew's clutches. He would have left Haxby all the richer, and kept Mary out of harm's way. But he didn't do that.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, desire flowing through his veins as he thought of the gorgeous red dress she wore to dinner tonight, the skirt so thin it appeared to be translucent, the shadows of her long legs showing through when she sat just so. She was teasing him and he knew it, pushing him a little bit with every encounter, trying to see whether she could make him break his carefully built guard. Carlisle had clearly gotten to her over the years, sold her on the belief that all men were the same, that even her precious Matthew could be as barbaric as Tony or any other man. It was genius really, he had to admit. Take the one thing that he knew Matthew wanted more than anything else in the world, poison it, and send it straight at him.

He swallowed, his breathing laboured. His hand reached down and took hold of his hard length, the reliable memories coming so easily to him whenever he needed them. Like a second skin he could step into his visions of Mary and leave the world behind, and she had already given him plenty in only two days to feed his hunger.

He was different, changed by time and hardship and loss. His resolve that had failed him when Lavinia died and Mary needed him so much was unbreakable now. Maybe it was too late for them. Maybe all of his efforts would be futile. Maybe no matter what he did, Mary was lost to him forever. But as her pale skin and haunting eyes drove him to ecstasy, he renewed his vow. They would have this month together, and he would do everything in his power to take his chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, desire flowing through his veins as he thought of the gorgeous red dress she wore to dinner tonight, the skirt so thin it appeared to be translucent, the shadows of her long legs showing through when she sat just so. She was teasing him and he knew it, pushing him a little bit with every encounter, trying to see whether she could make him break his carefully built guard. Carlisle had clearly gotten to her over the years, sold her on the belief that all men were the same, that even her precious Matthew could be as barbaric as any other man. It was genius really, he had to admit. Take the one thing that he knew Matthew wanted more than anything else in the world, poison it, and send it straight at him.

He swallowed, his breathing laboured. His hand reached down and took hold of his hard length, the reliable memories coming so easily to him whenever he needed them. Like a second skin he could step into his visions of Mary and leave the world behind, and she had already given him plenty in only two days to feed his hunger.

He was different. His resolve that had failed him when Lavinia died and Mary needed him so much was unbreakable now. Maybe it was too late for them. Maybe all of his efforts would be futile. Maybe no matter what he did, Mary was lost to him forever. But as her pale skin and haunting eyes drove him to ecstasy, he renewed his vow. They would have this month together, and he would do everything in his power to take his chance.

 **Chapter 3:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"My Lord. My Lord."

Matthew blinked and looked away from the window. He glanced down at his empty plate, his eggs and toast finished. Shaking his head and getting his bearings, he looked up as Carson crossed the Morning Room and came to his side. The butler nodded respectfully and handed him a folded piece of paper.

"The menu for this evening, my Lord," Carson declared. "For your approval before you depart for the office."

"Hmm? Oh, right. Thank you," Matthew muttered, unfolding the paper and glancing over the list of items. Approving menus was usually Cora's responsibility, but with Mary's mother still in America, and no Lady of the house, Carson sought his approval instead. It was a task that Matthew had no real interest in. Whatever Mrs Patmore chose to prepare was fine with him, within reason. But then, he was usually the only one present for dinner, and for the next month, that would not be the case.

He smiled at the thought.

"That all seems fine, Carson," he nodded, passing the paper back. "Have Lady Mary review it later this morning and Mrs Patmore may proceed."

Carson frowned, folding up the menu neatly. "My Lord, if I may…"

Matthew finished the last of his orange juice, wiped his mouth with his napkin and rose from the table. "Yes? What is it?"

"My Lord, while I do appreciate your efforts to make Lady Mary feel comfortable here, the fact remains that she is a guest, and guests of the house do not set the menu for dinner," Carson explained, following Matthew out through the parlour and into the drawing room.

"Carson, Lady Mary is hardly just any guest. I think that when there are only the two of us dining tonight, it's only fair that she have some input on the menu, don't you?" Matthew asked, not breaking stride.

"At Haxby she has full authority, my Lord, but this is Downton Abbey," Carson objected. "It is simply not the done thing."

Matthew sighed and stopped in his tracks. Turning to the butler, he gave him an impatient and pointed look.

"Carson, would you say that managing a house of the size of ours with the number of staff you and Mrs Hughes have at your command is the done thing?" Matthew asked.

Carson frowned, mulling over his answer before forging ahead. "Truthfully, my Lord, no. No, it is not. We have far too little, if I may be frank."

"And you do a commendable job of making do with what you have," Matthew nodded. "Now similarly, with Lady Grantham away in America, we must make do with what we have. Fortune must be smiling upon us, for, as luck would have it, we have a woman in our midst who is not only entirely comfortable with approving a menu at an English country home, but who also just happened to live in this very house and is quite familiar with what dishes I am particularly fond of, since for many years we did share the very dining table where we will be eating tonight. Not such a bad lot, is it, Carson?"

Carson grumbled but remained stoic. "No, my Lord. No, it is not."

The butler followed his Lord out into the Great Hall and moved quickly to fetch his coat, scarf and hat. Since Matthew became the Earl of Grantham, Carson had grown used to his way of doing things. It was decidedly not traditional, and even could be considered improper in certain respects, but though he did wish that he had more staff, and that the Earl could be more accepting of the proper way of doing things, he could not argue with results. Downton Abbey gleamed these days from all of the repairs and renovations carried out by Lord Grantham, and the house still ran smoothly even with a meagre staff.

"Good man," Matthew smiled, taking his coat and hat from the butler and putting them on himself. "You may show it to Lady Mary when she comes down."

"Show what to Lady Mary when she comes down?"

Both men stopped and looked up as Mary arrived downstairs, her white blouse and grey skirt decidedly conservative compared to what she had been wearing to dinner the past two nights. Matthew and Carson both smiled and bowed their heads when she crossed the large foyer and joined them.

"Good morning, my Lady," Carson greeted her formally.

"Mary," Matthew smiled.

"Good morning, Matthew, Carson," Mary replied. "Now, what's this all about?"

"I'm running terribly late," Matthew said. "I'll see both of you this evening."

"You're leaving?" Mary questioned, frowning at him.

"I must go into the office today, lest they forget who I am," Matthew replied. "I'm sure you can keep yourself busy, can't you?"

She arched her eyebrow. "Can we expect you back in time for dinner?"

"Most definitely," Matthew called, smiling at her as he walked backwards towards the door. "I wonder what Mrs Patmore will come up with for us?"

She looked at him curiously as he tipped his hat to her, gave Carson a knowing look and promptly left the house.

"Well, that was unexpected," Mary noted, staring at the door as Matthew got in his car and left.

"Perhaps for you," Carson mumbled.

"Carson," Mary smiled, looking over at the butler.

"Yes, my Lady?" Carson asked politely. "How may I be of service?"

"I was wondering if you might be able to provide me with a copy of tonight's menu?" Mary smiled. "I want to surprise Mr Crawley and make some additions to it."

"Erm, yes, my Lady, of course," Carson nodded. "I just happen to have tonight's menu here with me."

"Splendid," Mary nodded, taking the folded paper from Carson. "Thank you so much, Carson. I know it isn't necessarily the done thing to have a guest of the house comment on the dinner menu."

"You're not just any guest, my Lady, and we adapt easily here," Carson nodded. "We've learned the value of being prepared for anything when dealing with His Lordship."

She smiled and nodded in understanding. "I expect you have, yes. I'll have this back to Mrs Hughes within the hour."

"Very good, my Lady," Carson nodded. He watched her head off in the direction of the library. Shaking his head, he turned and went off towards the servants' stairs.

 **Law Office of Harvell and Carter, Ripon, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Lord Grantham? Sir?"

Matthew looked up from his desk and frowned at the young woman standing in the doorway. "Come in, Ingrid. Once again, do I need to remind you that you ought to call me Matthew?"

"No, Matthew," Ingrid smiled, coming into the office and taking a seat on the other side of the desk. "I was just having a go at you, that's all."

He rolled his eyes. Ingrid Carter was the youngest daughter of Matthew's senior partner. An impetuous young lady with black hair and hazel eyes, she inherited her father's curiosity and love for the law, however as women were previously not allowed to practise as lawyers, she was prevented from pursuing her career of choice. That all changed recently when the _Sex Disqualification (Removal) Act 1919_ came into force. Since then, she had been ardently pursuing her studies with a view to being called to the Bar. In addition to school, she came by the firm whenever she had time, and Matthew liked to give her research assignments here and there so she could learn the process for analysis and problem solving intrinsic to the profession.

"Well, let's try and focus on being productive first, and save the joking for later, shall we?" he suggested pointedly. "That's a lovely shirt you have on by the way."

"Why, thank you, Matthew," she grinned, looking down at her shirt.

"I believe my Mother has one just like it," he noted, giving her a smirk before looking back down at his papers.

"Oh, you!" she frowned. "Throw a few more of those at me and I'll be reporting you to Dad!"

"Be my guest. I've been meaning to talk to him about a rather interesting group that I ran into down the pub last week," he retorted, tilting his head and looking at her pointedly.

Her eyes went wide and she cleared her throat before shuffling through the papers on her lap. "Well, getting back to that assignment you gave me."

He smiled and turned his notepad to a fresh page. "Yes?"

"It wasn't easy," she sighed. "There aren't too many lawyers specializing in Family Law, and none who deal only with divorces, since there aren't very many divorces, period."

"Yes, but divorce is still a legal remedy," he remarked, jotting down his own notes as she continued.

"Since the _Matrimonial Causes Act 1857_ , yes, however it's usually too expensive to pursue," she replied.

"Well, my client's resources are considerable. Cost will not be an issue," he stated.

"Lucky you," she smiled. "That means you can bill a King's ransom for the work."

"I won't be doing the work. I don't practise in Family Law. I'm merely advising my client," he replied. "So what are we looking at?"

"Well, the law is all over the place, really," she shook her head. "The man has more rights than the woman, not surprisingly. If a man commits adultery, it's just him 'sowing his wild oats' but if a woman does it, she's a harlot, even if it takes a woman and a man to commit adultery in the first place, and does anyone even ask how it came about? What if she didn't know he was married at the time? That's possible, isn't it? Men always lie about such things, or conveniently choose to omit the information, and…"

"Ingrid!" he interrupted her. "Here's where we practise 'getting to the point'. It's a rather important skill for lawyers."

She smiled apologetically. "Right. Sorry. Well, it's as we thought. Divorce is nearly impossible these days."

"Forget about the expense," he shook his head.

"It's not just the cost, Matthew," she countered. "You need sufficient grounds to obtain a divorce from the Court. Not loving your husband is hardly sufficient. What are your client's grounds?"

"What grounds does she need?" he asked.

"Well," she began, turning her pages. "You need adultery by either the wife or husband at the very least. Do you have that?"

"Not yet," he muttered.

"What?" she frowned.

"I don't have evidence of the adultery as of yet," he explained. "I would expect that it's out there."

"Does she suspect her husband of adultery?" she asked.

"I wouldn't put it past him, put it that way," he answered.

"Well, that's not going to be enough on its own," she noted. "For the wife to petition for divorce, you need to show adultery by the husband as well as additional factors. So, for example, do you know if he's committed incest?"

"I can't imagine him even having a family, to be honest," he frowned. "I've never heard of any of his relations."

"All right, what about bigamy?" she continued.

"I can hardly believe that one woman married him, let alone two," he shook his head.

"Bestiality?"

"God, I hope not, if only because I'd hate to have to review the evidence," he cringed.

"Sodomy?"

"Same answer," he shook his head.

"Rape?"

He shook his head and grunted in disgust. Reaching for his glass of water, he took a long drink to calm himself. As much as he loathed Carlisle, he didn't want Mary to have suffered such torment. It was one thing if Carlisle had committed adultery or kept another wife hidden away somewhere. If he was capable of bestiality, sodomy, or rape, Matthew shuddered at what Mary's life at Haxby must be like.

"Cruelty?"

"Such as? He's a very cruel person, yes," he replied.

"Extreme violence, abuse, there's no set definition. It's more along the lines of what evidence is there to show a judge that a man was cruel to his wife."

"There's been no violence or physical abuse, no, though I would say that his treatment of her is cruel," he nodded.

"Well, she would have to go into detail about such incidents and it would all be subject to cross-examination on the stand."

He blinked. "She would have to testify?"

"Of course, she would," she looked at him strangely. "How else would the evidence in support of the divorce petition be submitted?"

He frowned and looked away. The idea of Mary being subjected to cross-examination pained him, and moreover, he knew it would terrify her to the point of not wanting to go ahead with a petition.

"Finally, there's desertion. If your client's husband is away for two years, he is deemed to have abandoned the marriage and that's sufficient grounds alone without having to prove adultery," she advised.

"Two years? No, I can't wait that long," he mumbled, not looking at her.

"What's that?" she asked.

He blinked and looked at her. "My client can't wait for two years, and her husband isn't likely to desert her, anyway. He loves how things are between them right now."

"Well, if you can't bring your client within one of the grounds, you're stuck, Matthew," she said. "All she's got left is an unhappy marriage, and sadly, there's no easy way out for that, at least not through the Court."

He nodded, reviewing his notes. "If a woman commits adultery, her husband can petition for divorce on that ground alone, can't he? He needn't prove anything else?"

"Yes, of course," she nodded. "Men have all the power, as I said."

"Right, right, but what if she brings a petition based on her own adultery?" he questioned.

She frowned. "What?"

His eyes narrowed in thought. "She petitions for divorce on the grounds that the marriage is broken because of her own adultery."

"I don't believe that's possible," she said slowly. "If it was, women everywhere would get out of their marriages by simply committing adultery and bringing their own petitions. It would almost be like boasting. If your client wants a divorce, and her husband doesn't, there's no way out of it for her unless she can find a proper ground against him."

"So we need to catch him in the act, as it were," he nodded. "Not just adultery, but something beyond that."

"Matthew, there's something else you ought to consider – the Court is highly suspicious of both collusion and condonation," she pointed out.

He frowned. "What are you saying?"

She sighed. "It's just that there are couples who try and petition for divorce because they want to get out of their marriage, and if the Court finds that they are colluding together, it will not sign the decree."

He nodded, recalling Bates' situation with his ex-wife, Vera. He frowned, recalling that he never did find out what ever became of that situation. Obviously, Bates obtained a divorce since he was able to marry Anna last year, but Matthew never heard about any of the details. He had let Anna and Bates go as part of his reduction of the staff following Robert's death and didn't speak to them beyond making a token appearance at the wedding. Bringing them back to Downton for the month was the first time he had seen them since their departure. He apologized for uprooting their lives and forcing them out of service, but he had not asked anything about Vera.

"I don't believe that will be an issue. He won't let her leave him, so they'll never be in a situation to collude," he shook his head.

"Fair enough. Then there's condonation. All of these grounds for divorce – adultery, sodomy, even cruelty – if the wife takes her husband back, that is, if she continues to live with him after each of the acts are committed, she is deemed to have condoned the misbehaviour, and they are no longer actionable," she stated.

He blinked. "He could abuse her, but if she doesn't leave him, he gets away with it?"

"Essentially, yes," she nodded solemnly.

"Crikey," he whispered, looking away.

She sat quietly in her chair, not knowing what else to say.

"Thank you, Ingrid," he said finally, rising from his desk and going over to look out the window. "You can hand your notes over to the secretary to be typed up and I'll let you know if I have anything else for you."

She nodded and rose from her chair, slowly made her way to the door and left his office.

He frowned as he looked out on to the street and the town hall beyond, the peaceful scene doing very little to calm his storm-ravaged mind.

Raising the idea of a divorce to Mary was always going to be a difficult task. Carlisle provided her with a life and a position that she believed she could not obtain otherwise. He had kept the story of her and Kemal Pamuk out of the papers, and even though he was a bit of a charlatan, Mary was well known in Society thanks to him. The gaudy parties that she hosted for him at Haxby and in London were legendary. She was the figurehead for all of his company's charitable endeavours. In this new era where old families had fallen and the influence of Society was waning, Carlisle and Mary were a true power couple. To outsiders, she had everything.

But he knew she wasn't happy.

How could she be? How could she possibly want to stay with a man who put her teeth on edge? He had seen how they were with each other during the rare occasions that he attended the same events as they did. There was a coldness, a distance between them. Even when they spoke, an argument always seemed to be on the verge of breaking out. They kept to their own circles at parties, he with his cronies, and she with the women, only coming together to wish everyone good night. They tolerated each other, nothing more.

The lack of affection in her marriage wasn't surprising. Carlisle was hardly the romantic type, and Mary had been raised to believe love was not of supreme paramountcy in a marriage. Still, he expected that even she would grow weary of always having to battle her own husband, to say nothing for having to tolerate his chauvinistic attitude.

How could she stand the archaic notion that a wife was her husband's property?

How could she remain married to a man who was capable of betting her in a poker game?

He blinked and turned away from the window, a frown creasing his brow.

Mary had arrived at Downton Abbey as stoic and elegant as ever. She was slowly warming to him again, but he never detected any resentment or outrage over their situation. She seemed remarkably comfortable being at Downton under such circumstances. At first, he thought it was just classic Mary putting her head down and getting on with things, doing her duty. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Maybe the idea of Carlisle betting her in a poker game wasn't so outrageous to her.

Maybe being sent to spend time with another man at her husband's will wasn't so shocking to her at all.

Maybe this wasn't the first time she had to do so.

He reached out and gripped the top of his chair, his fingers clutching the leather fiercely. His mind raced back to Haxby, to the late evening less than two weeks ago when he, Tony and Carlisle were the last ones left at the table. He thought that Carlisle had involved Mary in the bet because he knew that the mention of her name would entice Tony into agreeing to the all-or-nothing terms of the final hand. He assumed that it was a sudden brainstorm in the moment by the man's devious mind. Mary was Tony's weakness, and Carlisle was doing all he could to exploit it.

Maybe the idea wasn't so spontaneous.

Maybe offering Mary's companionship was another arrow in Carlisle's quiver, one that he had used before.

He swallowed tightly, concern darkening his face. Instinct told him that it was impossible. No man would treat his wife so callously, even Carlisle. What's more, no self-respecting woman would live with such suffering, especially Mary, the strongest and bravest woman Matthew knew. If her marriage was anywhere near as horrible as that, surely she would have come to him for help by now?

His chest tightened as he was forced to face an ugly answer that seemed less implausible by the second.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary kept looking behind her as she made her way down the upstairs hall, checking every so often to see if someone was approaching. With so few servants left, the likelihood of her running into anyone was minimal, but she still felt nervous as she made her way past the gallery and down a side passage. Checking around one last time, she darted up the small stairs to the attics.

After submitting her revised menu to Mrs Hughes, she spent the rest of the morning getting reacquainted with her family home. Matthew had already shown her around so she could see the changes he'd made, and they had taken a walk outside yesterday, but she enjoyed today more, going at her own pace and visiting the places in the house that were so dear to her. For this next stop, she considered seeking Anna's assistance, but thought better of it. This was a private matter, and she didn't want to get her maid in any trouble.

The attics were clean and well lit. Dear Carson still made sure the rooms were dusted, aired out and the windows kept clean. She wandered around the old space, taking in all the history and hidden treasures stowed up here. There was antique furniture, and clothes over a century old. Boxes were stacked in neat piles, the contents carefully marked, sometimes even dated. She saw old wooden toy rocking horses that she and her sisters used to ride when they were little, cute dolls and stuffed bears, some with their eyes and noses sewn back on, casualties of some rather heated fights between her and Edith.

She opened up a large trunk and laughed when she discovered tiny frilly dresses, matching hats and little shoes with bows and buckles. Picking up one of the dresses, she shook her head in wonder. Even at the age of five, fashion held paramount importance in her life.

When she moved to Haxby, Richard was quite adamant over what she could bring with her from Downton. He didn't care what clothes, accessories, shoes, or even books that arrived with her. Even Diamond was sent across and took up residence in the stables. Keepsakes and mementos, however, were closely scrutinized. He chided her for being overly sentimental, telling her that she would be decorating their homes in Yorkshire and London from the ground up, and there was no room in his palaces for reminders of her youth. Photographs were limited to a few of her family, none of Matthew, and were confined to her rooms, never to be displayed in the more public spaces of the house.

The message could not have been more obvious. Her old life at Downton was over. From the moment she became Richard's wife, the past was left behind.

She grinned like a child on Christmas morning as she delved further into the attics and unearthed more bounty. Edith's debutante dress. Sybil's harem pants. Aunt Rosamund's old winter coat. A feather boa that she could barely believe belonged to Granny. She teared up a bit when she found one of Papa's old hats, the leather soft and worn. Slowly turning around in a circle, she sighed pleasantly. God, how she loved this house.

Opening another trunk, her eyes widened when she came upon Matthew's old military dress uniform, neatly folded and stored away. Kneeling down carefully, she reached in and touched the gold epaulettes before running her fingers over the red coat. The first time she saw him wearing this uniform was their first meeting in over a year since he took back his proposal and left Downton. She had just come back from London, had just met Richard at Cliveden. There was another party to go to upon her return, the sight of men in uniform common as the War was well into its second year.

She remembered turning in the middle of the ballroom and looking to the door, and there he was.

With Lavinia on his arm.

She shut the trunk, closing her eyes and shaking her head. She remembered crying in front of Anna that night, so distraught over Matthew having moved on. In the days to follow, Carson would urge her to tell him that she still loved him, but she remained quiet, despite having every opportunity. Over the following years, through his injury and her nursing him, she never once told him she loved him. Even after the War was over and she finally confessed to him about Pamuk, it was more in answer to his inquiries than to explain why she hadn't accepted him before.

" _I love you."_

She never said it.

And neither did he.

Wiping her eyes, she stood back up, marshalling her defences once more. Memories of Downton were pleasant to reminisce while she was here, but there was no use thinking back over her history with Matthew. All of that was finished now, and going over it again would only make her sad or angry.

She was just about to head back downstairs when she noticed two filing cabinets next to Matthew's trunk. They were made of metal, and stood out from the much older antique furniture covered in drop cloths. Frowning, she went over and opened one of the drawers, finding a neat row of file folders inside.

Her fingers travelled across the labels. These seemed to be Matthew's archives from the past while. There were files from work, papers and reports from his time in the Army, even copies of his essays, tests, exams, and school records from back in Manchester. She shook her head, a knowing smirk on her lips. It was just like him to keep everything in such thorough detail. He must have had these brought up here so as not to clutter up his study.

She was about to close the drawer when her eyes caught a familiar name written on one of the folders. Pulling it out to get a better look, her breath caught when she saw it more clearly.

 _Kemal Pamuk_

She arched her eyebrow as she opened the folder and looked over the papers inside. There were copies of Kemal's birth certificate, newspaper articles from the London Conference of 1912, the event that brought Kemal and Evelyn Napier to Downton, a grainy photograph that seemed to have been provided by the Turkish Embassy, and the obituary following his death. Why had Matthew compiled this?

At the back of the folder was a thick letter, several pages long. Reading the first few lines, she blinked in surprise. It was a report from a Mr Wakefield, a man that Matthew seemed to have hired to investigate Kemal's past. The report was dated June 1919, two months after Lavinia's death and two months before her wedding.

Around the time that she had finally told him what happened between her and the Turkish diplomat.

 _'Investigation into past assault allegations against the deceased has proven inconclusive. Hearsay and rumours unable to be corroborated due to passage of time.'_

She closed the folder and put it back, at a loss to explain why Matthew had gone to such trouble.

Buried in the back of the cabinet were further folders on Richard, Evelyn, Tony Gillingham and even Philip, Duke of Crowborough. Matthew had researched each of these men in the past years, focusing mainly on those instances when they had crossed paths with her. She slowly closed the drawer and headed for the stairs. She pictured Matthew hunched over his desk late at night, poring over the folders, reading about men who all, at one time or another, had some connection to her. But why?

She still held a pensive frown when she reached the hallway and went over to the main stairs to go down to the Great Hall.

 **Law Office of Harvell and Carter, Ripon, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Matthew sifted through the piles of newspapers. He would open a given day's issue, turn to the section he was interested in, skim over it quickly and discard it if he didn't find what he was searching for. When he first started working here, he complained that maintaining subscriptions to so many London newspapers was a waste of money, and keeping them in storage was a waste of space. He was quite glad now that his complaints had been ignored.

Frowning, he leaned over the desk and looked closely at a photograph on the Society page. When he started his investigation, he knew exactly what he was looking for, but was fearful of what he might find.

 _'Lady Mary Carlisle dances with sports car racer Henry Talbot at a charity event at The Savoy'_

He stared at the photo of Mary in the arms of a taller, lanky man with a somewhat pointy nose. She was smiling up at him, her elegant dress rather captivating compared to his drab evening suit. After a few more moments, he set the newspaper on to a small pile and sat back in his chair.

Carlisle and Mary were regulars on the Society pages since their wedding. All of the added attention was partly due to the fact that Carlisle owned many of the newspapers that they were featured in, but it was also his way of showing her off. The caption of each photograph always mentioned her married name, even if he wasn't in the shot. Matthew usually ignored this section when Carson brought him the morning newspapers at breakfast. Not only did he not care about who was doing what in Society, but seeing a photograph of Mary and Carlisle together would have ruined his day.

The photographs and articles he found of Mary with other men seemed harmless enough on the surface. It was common knowledge that she was in charge of Carlisle's charity fundraising efforts, as well as being a renowned hostess in general, so it was expected she would entertain the guests at her numerous events. His imagination went to a rather dark place when he wondered what happened at the end of those evenings after the reporters had left.

If he probed deep enough, he could invent some reason for why Mary flirting with any of these men would benefit Carlisle, and why her spending time with them was far more wicked than merely being a good hostess. They were all rich, for one. Some were famous. Others were powerful. Matthew wasn't nearly as adept at the ways of Society as Cora or Mary, but he knew how Carlisle's business worked. Establish connections with a wide range of people, hand out favours to gain their trust and you never know when you'll need to collect.

Is that what Mary did for her husband? Did he fling her at other men as some form of inducement to cement their business dealings with him? Why would she go along with that?

He looked over at the clock and frowned. He had worked straight through lunch on a project that he couldn't even bill for or attribute to any professional purpose. Willing himself to try and get some actual work done, he set the newspapers down on the floor, though even as he went back to finishing a codicil for the Thompson family, his mind was elsewhere. The internal debate over what exactly Carlisle made Mary do, and how complicit she was in any such lurid schemes, carried on loudly.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Carson, I need you to…" Mary began, coming into the parlour. She stopped suddenly when she realized that she and the butler weren't alone.

"Hello, Mary."

"Granny," Mary smiled, going over to kiss Violet Crawley on the cheek. "How lovely to see you. What a pleasant surprise!"

"For me, also," Violet replied, smiling at her granddaughter from her usual chair. "I've already had tea brought in. Would you leave us, Carson? Mary and I have so much to catch up on."

The Dowager Countess kept her eyes firmly fixed on Mary as Carson bowed and took his leave.

"I wasn't expecting you to come up today," Mary noted, taking a seat and pouring the tea.

"Cleary, seeing as you did not inform me that you were here at all, let alone that you'll be staying the month," Violet replied.

Mary swallowed, keeping a placid expression as she passed Granny her tea and took up her own cup. "There was no hurry. I expected that I would see you either at Dower House or here at some point."

"Mmm, and how has your stay been thus far, my dear? Are you finding the improved Downton agrees with you?" Violet asked.

"I am impressed by all that Matthew's done," Mary replied carefully. "He seems to have grown more comfortable in his position after some time."

"He has, yes," Violet agreed. "I most appreciate his attention to detail. He's always thinking, always planning ahead. Nothing is ever done without a purpose in mind, even if it is for some reward in the future, rather than the present."

"He can be quite thorough, yes," Mary nodded.

"Quite thorough. His plans for the farms, for example, more resemble a coordinated attack strategy than a development proposal," Violet smiled.

Mary sipped her tea.

"He seems to do everything with precision," Violet continued. "Nothing is left to chance. Every move is deliberate and considered."

Mary placed her cup down and looked at her Granny cautiously.

"Take your stay here, for instance. Your husband offered a weekend, and Matthew countered with a full month. That must have required some quick thinking," Violet noted pointedly.

Mary frowned. "Is that what your spies told you? I know Matthew would never reveal what happened that night."

"Of course, he wouldn't, and he didn't" Violet nodded. "As for my spies, you would not expect me to let you live in that monstrosity of a home without knowing what took place within its walls, would you? This latest report was entirely unexpected, I must say."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Obviously it's very shocking to someone of your generation."

"Don't let us hide behind the changing times, my dear," Violet scoffed. "If you were found out, the reaction would be disastrous. A married woman spending a month in the home of an unattached, eligible Earl who happens to also have proposed to her once before. That would be quite shocking to most people, I should think, without even raising the circumstances of how you came to be here."

"And yet I find that you seem more concerned with my being here than the other thing," Mary retorted.

"I am concerned over both, however one can be managed, while the other seems quite uncontrollable," Violet stated.

"You're referring to Richard and Matthew now," Mary shook her head.

"Of course, I am. My dear, I have made no attempt to hide my contempt for your husband. He is as distasteful an individual as I have come across," Violet frowned.

"And yet you urged me to marry him," Mary said pointedly.

"You know very well why you had to marry him," Violet noted. "As much as I sympathize for your situation, and I do sympathize, having a dalliance with Matthew will only make it worse. You must see that."

"Matthew and I are not…" Mary began, more loudly than she intended. She glanced to the closed door before going on. "Matthew and I are not having a dalliance or anything of the sort! We've spent the past three days getting to know each other again. He's been filling me in on his plans and we've toured the farms together. He's been a perfect gentleman."

"That pleases me," Violet nodded. "However, the longer you remain here, particularly with Cora away, the more you risk being seduced by him."

"I won't be seduced, Granny," Mary huffed.

"A married woman of a good family who spends a month alone with a man who is not her husband will invariably be seduced," Violet commented.

"Darling Granny, you know how much I value your advice," Mary tried again.

"Which means you intend to ignore it," Violet interrupted.

"I know Matthew," Mary declared. "He would never make me do anything that I didn't want to. I have nothing to fear being in his presence, alone or otherwise."

"Matthew's character is not under scrutiny," Violet shook her head. "He is family and always will be. All the same, my concern is well-founded. The two of you together are different than when apart. He tends to let his feelings control him when it comes to you, rather than the other way around. You do the same."

Mary frowned and sipped her tea.

"What do you wish to accomplish by being here, Mary?" Violet asked. "Nothing good shall come of it. I do hope you appreciate that and take it seriously."

"As you so succinctly put it, Granny, I am hardly here of my own choice, at least, not entirely," Mary answered. "I've been sent here, and I intend to make the best of the situation."

"If you must, however, be well aware that once your time with Matthew comes to an end, you will be going back to Haxby, and back to your husband," Violet added.

"What other choice would I have?" Mary questioned, not entirely rhetorically.

"My dear, do you honestly believe that Matthew will let you go so easily by the end of all this?" Violet asked.

"He stood by and did nothing while I married Richard, after all," Mary stated. "He knows that I'm here at my husband's direction and that my stay is limited. I do not know what he thinks of it, but he must abide by that reality."

"Just so long as you are forthright with him," Violet nodded.

Mary scoffed and shook her head. "Be forthright with him? What a novel idea!"

"Now, now," Violet said, holding up her hand. "What's done is done."

"He deserves to know, Granny," Mary pressed. "He still believes that it was his fault that I left. I can see how much it still pains him, how guilty he feels."

"I've seen it for the past two years," Violet confirmed. "I expect I shall see it for some time still."

"Then let me tell him! Please!" Mary pleaded. "At least to give him some peace."

Violet looked at her granddaughter sadly. "Mary, whether you tell him or not, I doubt he will ever be at peace with anything involving you and another man. As difficult as all of this has been, it is better that he never know. If he was to find out your true motivation for marrying Sir Richard, and why you stay with him despite everything, he would move Heaven and Earth to rescue you. Matthew made mistakes before, yes, but he has become the most relentless of men over these past few years. His dedication and commitment to whatever he sets his mind to are impressive and terrifying to behold. You do not want him to waste the rest of his life on a pointless crusade. It will only destroy whatever trust you are able to build during your stay."

"Oh, Granny," Mary sighed, shaking her head. "I feel that no matter what I do, the one thing I am certain of is that when this month is over, any trust between Matthew and I will be gone forever."

 **Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Matthew nodded as he passed a group of smiling children. He tipped his hat to a waving storeowner who was sweeping the pavement and smiled to a couple headed for the post office. Stopping in at the Village on his way home after work wasn't necessarily wise. He needed some time to think before facing Mary tonight, and when he was here, he seldom was left alone.

Becoming Earl of Grantham had changed his life quite thoroughly, and one of the more stranger developments was how well-known he had become. People knew who he was before – the new heir brought in by Robert to inherit the title – but they generally gave him a wide berth. He could ride his bicycle or stroll through the streets unnoticed and unbothered. Mary, Edith, even Sybil received more attention when he was out with them.

Now, as Lord Grantham, barely ten minutes went by without another person acknowledging him. He knew it was done mainly out of habit, rather than a genuine interest in him. These people had been raised to respect whoever was the Earl, and were only doing what they were taught. Still, it felt awkward to have complete strangers greet him as if he was a good friend.

He turned into the main square and slowed his pace. His mind wandered back to his first County Fair when he and Mary had ran into each other. They were far more at odds then, but they enjoyed a pleasant evening together, putting aside their dispute over the entail to laugh and talk. The tone of their chat was barely above basic courtesy, but he saw it as progress. He never did want her to hate him. For one evening, she didn't.

 _'My life makes me angry, not you.'_

He still didn't know how he felt about Mary attending to other men on Carlisle's orders, if that's what she had done. The young woman he met when he first arrived at Downton was fierce and strong, refusing to cede an inch to her own father, let alone an interloper from Manchester. It made no sense to him that the woman he knew back then, and the woman he saw her become, would ever agree to such a horrible treatment, let alone from her own husband.

If this wasn't the first time that she was bartered to another man, would that change how he thought of her, how he felt about her? She had married Carlisle, a man that Matthew detested the more he learned and saw of him. To a degree, he held that against her, but did it change his opinion of her? If it had, why had he insisted she come to Downton for a month? Why was he so interested in spending time with her if she was this changed woman that he couldn't stand to be around?

When Mary told him about her night with Kemal Pamuk, he was aghast and stunned speechless. She had asked him to speak, to say something, even if it was only goodbye. His first response, the first thing that came to him after hearing such shocking news, was to ask whether she loved the man or not. There was no condemnation or scorn in his voice. He only wanted to know why she would do such a thing. Her answer was immediate and firm.

 _'How could I? I barely knew him.'_

The words didn't help his scrambled mind to understand at the time, but looking back now, he recalled feeling slightly relieved. How she chose to behave and with whom was her decision. Then, as now, he had no claim to her. They were merely cousins. Yet, knowing that she hadn't given her heart to another man helped him process the situation more easily. If it was just lust, then fine. He wasn't as naïve as some in thinking that women didn't feel desire for a man until their mothers told them to. Besides, any attraction that Mary felt for Pamuk had brought her nothing but grief in the end. To know her heart was still her own reassured him in an odd way.

So what was different now? She was a married woman, wed to a man she didn't love, a man who she clearly had never given her heart to, either. Whether it was Carlisle, or Henry Talbot, Tony Gillingham or any of the other men that she may have spent time with in London, what she did with them wasn't his business. If he was willing to pledge to her that he could never despise her back then, did this change things at all?

If he cared so much about what she got up to, why didn't he have the strength to intervene when he had the chance?

He reached his car parked near the Village Church. Pausing before starting it up, he looked towards the horizon, knowing that Downton Abbey was in the distance, where Mary was waiting for him to arrive so they could have dinner together. Regardless of the day's revelations, going home to have dinner with Mary still seemed a lovely thought.

The engine chugged to life and he was soon on his way. What would happen between them this month still remained as difficult to predict as ever, but if he was to have any possibility of rebuilding their bond on any level, he had to accept her for who she was. Neither of them were the same people they were when they first met. After only three days, she was letting her guard down a little, but there was still uncertainty there, and suspicion. He had planned to show her just how different he was from Carlisle, and that meant he couldn't judge her on this. As he hit the throttle and made his way quickly along the country road, he found his courage. He wanted Mary in his life, on any terms. The thought of her with another man infuriated him, but he couldn't fall victim to her past. This month was about living in the moment, and dreaming of the future.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"I don't think I've ever seen a dress quite like this," Anna remarked, adjusting the neck of Mary's green and gold halter-style gown. There were no sleeves, and just a sheer back. The matching gold headband and gold gloves made her Mistress look like some kind of fairy, an enchantress above mere mortals.

"It's a more common style in London," Mary smirked, turning so she could see how the dress fell down her body. "Though the colours are rather unique. I quite like it."

"I imagine that His Lordship will find it quite fetching as well," Anna smirked, gathering up Mary's day clothes for the laundry.

"I'm not wearing it for him, Anna," Mary frowned. "It's more modern dinner attire, is all."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded, smiling knowingly as she continued on with her work.

"I was meaning to ask you, Anna," Mary continued, adjusting her gloves and examining herself in the mirror. "Do you know what those trophies in the drawing room are for? I hadn't noticed them until today. They certainly weren't there when I lived here."

"Those are His Lordship's," Anna answered. "From his sports."

"His sports?" Mary frowned, glancing over her shoulder at her maid. "I'm not following. What sports?"

"His Lordship competes in various games, Milady, mainly on weekends. Running, football, tennis and cycling, I believe. Sometimes shooting, but that one not often. He's held banquets at the Grantham Arms for all of the competitors when they're finished. They can be quite a rowdy lot, but they're all good men," Anna smiled.

"How long has this been going on?" Mary asked.

"Over a year now, Milady," Anna nodded. "I think it's mostly other soldiers that he goes against. They take it quite seriously, rather. He wins more often than not."

"I see," Mary muttered, looking back at the mirror.

"I'm going to take these down and get started on the mending, Milady," Anna stated. "If that will be all?"

"Yes," Mary nodded, smiling politely. "Thank you, Anna. I'll ring for you when I retire."

"Have a good evening, Milady," Anna curtseyed. "I'm sure that His Lordship will quite enjoy your special menu."

"Thank you," Mary said distractedly. When Anna had gone, she turned away from the mirror and went over and sat down at her vanity, frowning as she went over what the maid had said.

She hadn't kept in regular contact with Matthew since her wedding. Most of what she knew about him and Downton she learned from Mama or her sisters. He spoke and wrote to Sybil and Edith regularly, but they had never mentioned his new love of sport to her.

She recalled the other night when she saw him sprinting back and forth under the full moon. Matthew kept a rigorous fitness regimen. She saw it during his convalescence. He would attack the exercises with ardour, even when he confessed that he hated doing them. It was almost as if succeeding at a task was more important to him than the fatigue and ache associated with it. Winning mattered more than the price he had to pay to achieve it.

The file folders in the attics crossed her mind. Was that another manifestation of Matthew's competitive streak? Did he look into these other men that she knew because he wanted to know more about them, look for some hint as to why she had paid them attention from time to time? What were they to him? Mere acquaintances, or rivals?

The dinner gong chimed and she slowly rose from her chair and headed for the door. She knew that Matthew enjoyed a good argument, but she didn't think his interest in sparring went beyond witty conversation. Learning that he now relished a challenge, that he was driven by the need to win made her think. It was Richard who had invited Matthew to the poker game at Haxby, but Matthew had obviously accepted. It was Richard who had bet a weekend with her on the final hand, but Matthew had raised the stakes.

What was more important to him? Spending a month with her, or dealing a defeat to her husband? Was all of this about bringing her to his home and to his bed, or declaring superiority?

Was she just another trophy?

She reached the stairs and straightened her posture, taking a leisurely pace to go down to the Great Hall. Every time she seemed to have a grasp of Matthew's motives and intentions, more questions arose. She felt unbalanced and skittish, sure of herself and him one moment, and confused the next. Tonight's dinner seemed to take on added significance, if only to give her another chance to spend time with him and determine what he was all about.

* * *

"I don't know where you were able to find the recipes," Matthew smiled, coming over to the sofa and handing Mary her glass of sherry. "I thought that Mrs Patmore would have burned any trace of Mrs Bird from the kitchens."

"I don't believe that they were nearly as opposed to each other as we thought," Mary smiled, accepting the drink. "Anyway, I didn't mention Mrs Bird by name or her recipes. I merely remembered the dishes that you liked back in Manchester and noted them down for Mrs Hughes. Perhaps Mrs Patmore had some borrowed recipe cards hidden away for reference. In any event, it all came good."

"It most certainly did," he smiled, settling in next to her. "Thank you. You really didn't have to."

"Well, since it is just the two of us, I wanted to add some excitement to the evening," she replied, blinking once she realized what she said. She looked down and took a quick sip of sherry.

"You succeeded," he noted safely. "Not that I'm surprised. A menu for two is no great ask for you now. Your London parties are far larger."

"Perhaps, though after a while, organizing dinner for several hundred people becomes more a case of drawing from what you've done before than inventing anything original," she admitted. "Richard is rather set in his ways. There are only so many dishes that he'll allow."

He paused for a moment. "He knows what he wants."

She looked at him curiously. "Yes, he does."

He nodded and raised his brandy to his lips. "I admire how you're able to deal with such large events. I've seen how Cora manages it as well and it's quite impressive. The way you can make all of your guests feel comfortable despite there being so many of them. You make them feel important."

She smiled and accepted his compliment. "It can be challenging, but it gets better as one gains more experience. Besides, I don't know how important my role truly is. Most guests just want to be pointed in the direction of the bar and be left alone."

"I don't agree," he scoffed. "Every guest believes that they are but one of many. Walking into a crowded ballroom makes one feel quite small. A mediocre hostess will do nothing to defeat this ambivalence, and the majority of guests will end up having a less than enjoyable evening. You're not like that. You make every guest feel special. You know how to be attentive, how to speak to people as though they're the only person in the room. Yours is one of the most important roles there is, Mary."

She stared at him in surprise.

"After the bartender, of course," he nodded.

She laughed and shook her head. "Of course!"

"Well, you must admit that regardless of how friendly the hostess, or how delicious the canapés, a fully stocked bar can make the evening go far more smoothly," he shrugged.

"Touché," she smiled.

He grinned and took a sip of his drink.

"I don't always care for grand events, however," she continued.

"You don't?" he questioned.

She met his eyes. "No. Sometimes a smaller affair is best, depending on the company."

His blue eyes never wavered.

"What about you?" she asked, her voice soft and smooth. "I can't imagine you like being in a crowd."

"I go where I'm told to," he replied, looking intently at her. "Cora and Violet set my schedule for such things, but if I had my way, I'd prefer something more intimate."

"Are you so powerless?" she asked, swallowing as her throat had suddenly become quite dry.

"It seems so, sometimes," he said, his eyes glancing down at her lips before snapping back up to her eyes. "As though I'm flailing in the wind."

"You can't want that," she stated, her voice lowering to a whisper.

He looked at her lips again. "No, but who am I to do anything about it?"

"I thought you were an Earl," she noted, her skin feeling delightfully warm.

"And what does being an Earl entitle me to, exactly?" he asked.

"Anything you want," she hissed.

"Anything?" he asked, the firelight seeming to make his eyes glow.

"Everything," she answered, her pulse leaping.

They both jumped when they heard the shrill ring of the telephone in the parlour next door. Matthew stood up and adjusted his vest, glancing around in confusion and clearing his throat.

"My, that's loud, isn't it?" she remarked, taking a long drink of her sherry.

"It is," he muttered. "With just Carson and a footman around in the evenings, I wanted the telephone to be loud enough for them to be able to hear it. I might have to rethink that idea."

They both looked to the door when the butler arrived.

"My Lord, my Lady," Carson nodded. "It's Lady Edith calling from London for Lady Mary."

Mary frowned and rose from the sofa. "Edith? What could she want at this hour?"

"She didn't say, my Lady," Carson replied. "Only that she was told to call you here."

Matthew looked at her in puzzlement. "Told to call you here? Does that make sense?"

She rolled her eyes. "It makes perfect sense. Thank you, Carson. I'll be right there."

The butler nodded and took his leave.

"I won't be long," she said, smiling at Matthew and searching for the wonderful mood she was just enjoying with him.

"I should go up anyway," he stated. "I have a rather early start tomorrow."

She blinked. "You're going to the office again?"

"Just for the morning," Matthew explained. "I have a deadline to meet tomorrow. However, I was going to suggest we have lunch outdoors if the weather cooperates. We can have a bit of a picnic on the grounds."

She smiled. "That sounds like a lovely idea. I'll arrange it while you're away and be ready upon your return."

"Excellent," he nodded. He stepped towards her and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Thank you, Mary. Good night."

She smiled and nodded politely. "Good night."

He watched her go, only exhaling loudly after she left the room.

* * *

"Edith? Let me guess – Granny told you to ring me here," Mary rolled her eyes as she spoke into the telephone.

"How did you know?" her sister asked. "We came back from dinner and there was a message for me to ask for you at Downton. Granny said that it was urgent. What are you doing there?"

"I'm visiting for the month while Richard is in India," Mary explained. "There's nothing urgent. I saw Granny for tea today already. She must want to keep tabs on me and she enlisted you for the task. Everything is fine."

"Ah, now I understand," Edith laughed. "It's just you and Matthew alone there, isn't it?"

"The servants are here," Mary said defensively.

"Right. That changes things," Edith noted sarcastically.

"That's none of your concern, or anyone else's. Good night, Edith. Give my regards to Sir Anthony," Mary sighed.

"Good night. I'll see you next week," Edith said cheerfully.

Mary frowned. "What's happening next week, dare I ask?"

"Spratt called the house earlier to say Granny's holding a dinner next week," Edith informed her. "I thought it was just to keep Matthew company while Mama is away, but it seems Granny has another purpose for it since you're there."

"When does she not?" Mary groaned. "I'll have to look into this. Good night."

"Good night. If the dinner does go ahead, can you make sure that the dessert isn't too salty, please?" Edith asked.

"Yes, yes, don't worry," Mary rolled her eyes and hung up the phone.

She frowned and shook her head on her way out of the parlour and through to the Great Hall. Granny had impeccable timing as usual. While she couldn't fault Edith for responding to what she believed was a legitimate message, it would have been better if the call had come a bit later.

Or not at all.

She touched her lips as she went upstairs, a warmth still filling her chest from her time with Matthew. Dinner could not have gone better. His eyes lit up when Carson brought in the main course – a more decadent version of Lancashire hotpot using oysters instead of mutton. It was a decidedly Mancunian dish, and not the kind of heavy and rustic entrée that would be served at Downton. Seeing him devour his serving with gusto made her smile. She didn't find it half bad herself. Seafood of any kind was rare at their table.

For dessert, Mrs Patmore put together freshly baked Eccles cakes, and Matthew laughed when he saw them. The flaky pastry was buttery and sweet, the blueberries perfectly soft and syrupy. He looked like a little boy enjoying his favourite treats, and their conversation was lively and full of laughter. He regaled her with stories about his father bringing home pastries on his way from the hospital, and weekends when he would sit in the kitchen for hours with Mrs Bird and Isobel while the stew simmered away on the hob. It was so very different from her own upbringing, and yet she could sense how being in a loving family and a happy home helped shape him into the man he was today. Maybe his manners were a bit rough when he first arrived, and maybe he still struggled with the requirements of being an Earl today, but she truly believed that he cared about Downton in a way that others did not. This was his home now, and he could be trusted with it. The thought made her immensely relieved and proud.

She reached their floor and stopped, her eyes glancing over to the hallway that led to his bedroom. If only he hadn't gone up so soon. Edith's call seemed to break some sort of spell that had fallen over them, injected the real world into their small haven in the sitting room by the fire. He looked resplendent in black tie, and there was something else about him tonight. Whether it was the extra stimulation of having gone into the office today or some leftover delight from the well-loved dishes at dinner, his eyes seemed to be more alive, more captivating, more hypnotizing.

Not once all evening did she wonder if she would end up as just another woman on his list of conquests. He gave her his full attention and warm smile, and she couldn't bring herself to believe that he could be so callous. Whether this meant anything to him or not, could she truly blame him in either instance? She was the one who would be leaving for Haxby at the end of their month, and he would be alone once again.

She could sense the need in him, or perhaps it merely mirrored her own. She caught him staring at her during the evening, his eyes lingering on her dress, how it seemed to shimmer as she moved, and all that it revealed. It made her feel remarkably smug. Holding his attention was arousing, particularly when he was so poor at being subtle. Maybe it was unfair to play with him a little, but it had been so long since she'd truly been appreciated, felt adored and valued. It was one thing for him to appreciate her beauty. Richard did as well. But their conversation was so stimulating. He asked her questions, sought her opinions and listened attentively. They weren't all the way back to the way they were before, but she was feeling more and more at ease the more time she spent with him.

A shiver of anticipation shook her when they went through. He prepared the drinks this time and she sat down on the sofa, admiring him from afar. Something so simple as a genuine 'thank you' for organizing the menu made her almost giddy. It was such a minor comment, and yet his appreciation meant so very much. How many times had Richard thanked her for running things at Haxby? How many times had he gone to the trouble of praising her for all she did to host his parties and events? How often did she feel truly valued for just being her?

They sat on the sofa together, talking and laughing. He was sitting next to her one second, and suddenly was so close the next, his breath warm against her cheek, his scent pleasant and inviting. She was forgetting herself, and she didn't care. It felt too good to be so near to him to worry about what was right and wrong.

Her gaze lingered on the darkened hallway, wondering if he was still awake, wondering if he was contemplating what was to come next, as she was. It would be so easy to go to him now. They were the only people upstairs and surely he must have felt the electricity between them that she did. Would he turn her away for being so brazen? Or, would he welcome her into his bed with open arms?

She glanced down at her wedding ring, the sight of it a reminder of the mad situation she found herself in. Still, it did nothing to deter her. Richard held no hold over her here, even though it was he who had sent her. She and Matthew were together in her family home, a safe place for both of them, with no one else here to interrupt or judge. Everything that had always kept them apart could be left outside, ignored for the next few weeks. Even all that she had learned about him in the past three days – the file cabinets in the attics, the trophies in the drawing room, even his role in the poker game – none of it could sway how she felt.

Sitting with him tonight after dinner and enjoying just being with him, being Mary and Matthew, free of restrictions and limitations, was thrilling. She could have sat with him all night. The truth hit her just before Edith's phone call ruined everything, and she savoured it now. She loved him. Had always loved him. The lost years and all the mistakes they had made hadn't changed that. Now, finally, they were together, living together at Downton, as they were always meant to be.

Sighing sadly, she turned away and headed to her own bedroom. Tonight had been almost perfect, and it gave her confidence that there would be more nights like this, nights where they seemed completely in tune with each other, nights where all that existed was the two of them, nights where they could see just where the mood would take them.

Entering her bedroom, she went over and pulled the cord for Anna. This dream would be over far too soon, but for now, they were living it, and she would not hold back. Even if secrets and duties eventually swept her away, at least they would have the memories of this month to carry with them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

She glanced down at her wedding ring, the sight of it a reminder of the mad situation she found herself in. Still, it did nothing to deter her. Richard held no hold over her here, even though it was he who had sent her. She and Matthew were together in her family home, a safe place for both of them, with no one else here to interrupt or judge. Everything that had always kept them apart could be left outside, ignored for the next few weeks. Even all that she had learned about him in the past three days – the file cabinets in the attics, the trophies in the drawing room, even his role in the poker game – none of it could sway how she felt.

Sitting with him tonight after dinner and enjoying just being with him, being Mary and Matthew, free of restrictions and limitations, was thrilling. She could have sat with him all night. The truth hit her just before Edith's phone call ruined everything, and she savoured it now. She loved him. Had always loved him. The lost years and all the mistakes they had made hadn't changed that. Now, finally, they were together, living together at Downton, as they were always meant to be.

Sighing sadly, she turned away and headed to her own bedroom. Tonight had been almost perfect, and it gave her confidence that there would be more nights like this, nights where they seemed completely in tune with each other, nights where all that existed was the two of them, nights where they could see just where the mood would take them.

Entering her bedroom, she went over and pulled the cord for Anna. This dream would be over far too soon, but for now, they were living it, and she would not hold back. Even if secrets and duties eventually swept her away, at least they would have the memories of this month to carry with them.

 **Chapter 4:**

 **Law Office of Harvell and Carter, Ripon, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew? Matthew. Matthew!"

Matthew closed his eyes and shook his head, pausing to calm himself before opening them again. His head was swimming from having read over reports and financial statements dozens of times. He had no idea how long he had been at it or what else was going on in the office. All he knew were the piles of numbers that made his vision glaze over.

"Yes, come in," he called, opening his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Just wanted to let you know that we've closed," Ingrid called, leaning her head in from the doorway. "The client was quite happy."

"Have they paid their bill?" he asked.

"Yes. We took it from the purchase funds," she replied.

"Good. Now I'm happy as well," he smiled. "Well done, you. Go on and take lunch with the others. Bring the receipt to me tomorrow and I'll have it reimbursed."

She laughed and turned away, closing his office door behind her.

Exhaling slowly, he went back to his work. He was the first one in today, coming in early to go over all of the documents for the real estate purchase he was handling with another lawyer. Ingrid was the runner to bring documents back and forth between the two firms on the transaction. She had also developed a rapport with the clients, so she was allowed to be in on the completion of the deal.

From his early days of doing wills and estates files, he had expanded his practice now to include commercial and real estate transactions. The economy was changing following the end of the War, and there was a growing need for lawyers outside of London to help shift county businesses from agriculture to other industries. Combined with numerous families having to give up some or all of their land holdings and there was plenty of work to go around. Downton kept him busy enough, but he still liked to maintain regular hours as much as he could. He always used work as a bit of an escape, a place where all of the demands of Downton and his family did not intrude.

These days, however, that was all he seemed to think about, whether he was at the office or not.

Spread out across his desk were reports and financial statements from numerous companies. Between Murray and his other colleagues in London, he had managed to assemble several years' worth to gauge their performances. The group of organizations shared one particular trait – they were all owned and controlled by Sir Richard Carlisle. Being publically traded companies, they all had to report to their shareholders, which meant their financial information was readily available. It wasn't the same as having access to Carlisle's personal records, but it was close enough for Matthew's purposes.

What he saw in the numbers concerned him.

Carlisle's newspapers were all profitable. That wasn't surprising. What was surprising was that his margins weren't nearly as large as Matthew expected. Many of his newspapers were just above breaking even, and this was coming off a period where sales spiked with the public clamouring for any news on the War. There had to be a drop-off now that the fighting was over, which meant that Carlisle's profits would drop as well.

Even more worrisome were the marked increases in executive compensation recorded on the financial statements. Now that Matthew was an Earl, he knew just how costly it was to maintain a home such as Haxby, which was not even close to the size of Downton. After his marriage, Carlisle's profile in Society had increased dramatically thanks to Mary being his wife. Keeping a home in London and hosting all of his parties and events certainly wasn't cheap. Was he taking out of the company profits to stay afloat?

Normally, Matthew couldn't care less about the financial health of Carlisle's companies, or of the man himself. First, he wasn't a shareholder, so he wasn't directly impacted by how well, or how poorly the companies did. Second, he didn't think that the journalism in most of Carlisle's papers was particularly skilful either, so whether they survived or not hardly mattered to him.

However, the unstable nature of the newspaper man's fortunes worried Matthew for what it might mean for Mary. Carlisle was a bully. It wasn't as if he traded on any particular skill learned from years of schooling and honing his craft. He had come up in the newspaper business, taken advantage of opportunities and fought his way to the top. Matthew would have respected him as a self-made man if he didn't have the unfortunate experience of knowing him personally and seeing his true nature. When a bully didn't get what he wanted, or didn't have things go his way, he acted out. Would Mary be caught in the blast?

Maybe she already was.

Getting up from his chair, he went over to his window and looked out onto the street. He hated reliving all the mistakes he made in his relationship with Mary, but a glaring one in particular was accusing her of caring only about money and his prospects when she delayed in answering his proposal. He was angry and frustrated with her back then, and was deeply hurt by the idea that if he was no longer Robert's heir, she wouldn't want to marry him. The time they spent together during the War, particularly when he was injured and under her care, showed him there was so much more to her than that. Still, circumstances and the changing times had trapped her to a degree, and Carlisle was once again there to pounce on an opportunity.

Matthew couldn't hold it against her that she worried over her future. He was the one who would inherit the earldom and Downton. She was too proud to rely on his charity, and too pragmatic for her own good sometimes, as well. With his wedding to Lavinia imminent, she felt she had to secure her own future immediately. Carlisle represented safety and stability for her in the beginning. His money was earned in business, and did not depend on the peerage or land holdings, two dwindling commodities at the end of the War. His knowledge of her incident with Kemal Pamuk forced her hand to a point, but she forged ahead and made the best of her situation. As sad as it was to say, Carlisle was the best offer she had at the time. If he published her scandal, her options would crumble. No one else would have her if she was branded as a fallen woman.

No one else except for Matthew, but he was in mourning, and he had turned her away.

 _'We're cursed, you and I. Let's be strong, Mary, and accept that this is the end.'_

What a fool he was, rejecting her when she offered her condolences over Lavinia's death and her support in a trying time. She had no expectations of him, hadn't even mentioned Pamuk to him or burdened him with her own problems. In return, so lost in his wallowing was he that he drove her away.

He felt he betrayed Lavinia when he kissed Mary, and perhaps he had. Still, Lavinia would never want him to be unhappy. She was the one who had urged him to pursue Mary, and he was so ashamed and broken that he didn't feel he deserved to be happy.

Why would Mary think to wait for him to come around? Why would she believe she could count on him when he had let her down so many times?

Now, here they were, with her married to Carlisle, and he alone, when it all ought to have played out so differently.

He frowned, going over his plans in his mind. Mary didn't love her husband. That was obvious. Leaving him would be a challenge, first in talking her into the idea to begin with, and second in plotting the right strategy to pursue. Mary's standing in Society was of utmost importance to her. Her reputation was her principal currency. The gossip about Mary and Pamuk was out there already, though it had died down considerably over the years. He was confident that if Carlisle published the story, he could shield her from that. The larger problem was the divorce would follow her for the rest of her life. She would be happy living at Downton with him as Countess of Grantham, he was sure of it. But he also knew that having to deal with the inevitable stigma whenever they were in London would be harsh for her.

He had to convince her that a life with him, even if she was ridiculed and talked about by others, was better than a life of misery with Carlisle. She would fight him, of course. She would say that she could endure, that she had to endure, that her kind of people didn't divorce. He had to make her see that staying with that man would not just be difficult to bear, but lead to her life in ruins. Her reputation wouldn't be worth much if she ended up destitute or worse. If he could show her that, they had a chance.

He turned away from the window and leaned over his desk. He never would have imagined that he would be plotting to end another man's marriage, but he couldn't stand idly by and allow Mary to be mistreated. The feelings she roused in him during the four days of her stay thus far were entirely inappropriate considering she was a married woman. Even still, he couldn't shut them off. Spending so much time together each day seemed to draw them closer. Each day he saw something in her that he had missed for far too long.

They were not merely rebuilding their friendship, though. There was something else, something neither of them wanted to talk about out loud since it was so very delicate and so very wrong. He sensed it in the sitting room last night before Edith's call, and he was convinced she did, too. An attraction. A pull. A magnetic force that seemed to strengthen the longer they were in each other's presence. Propriety and morality compelled him to not overstep his boundaries, but he was being swept up in the sheer magic of smiling and laughing with her, with no one to get in their way.

Quickly folding up the reports, he piled them all on to a corner of his desk and collected his coat and hat. Mary was waiting for him to go on their picnic and he couldn't be late. He didn't know how he was going to bring up any of the hard questions that he wanted to ask her, but he still had time.

A nagging possibility bothered him walking to his car and during the drive to Downton. What if Carlisle had more against Mary than just the Pamuk scandal? What if the main reason she couldn't and wouldn't divorce him was that she would suffer more than just the ignominy of the world learning a man had died in her bed? Carlisle was a cunning bastard, and secrets were his speciality. What did he know that Matthew didn't?

He took a deep breath as he drew closer to home. Speculating endlessly would only drive him mad. Carlisle was far away, and Mary was staying at Downton for weeks still. He smiled, banishing his concerns for now and looking forward to spending more time with her.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Open your mouth, I'll put it in, and you can taste it," Matthew ordered.

"I've never done such a thing," Mary whispered, staring up at him.

"You'll like it. I'm quite sure. Just don't bite down or you'll ruin everything," he urged her.

She swallowed nervously.

"What's wrong? Don't you trust me?" he teased.

"Of course, I do. It's just that it so unheard of," she replied, her breath catching.

"You can go slowly at first and get used to it. Don't worry. I won't choke you," he smiled.

"All right," she relented. "God, I hope no one sees us. You must swear never to tell anyone about my doing this for you."

"For me? I think you're the one who will derive the most pleasure from the experience," he chuckled. "I'm just here to watch."

"I doubt that," she frowned. "I think you're just saying that to compel me to submit."

"Even if that were true, you're intrigued. I can see it. You want to do it," he nodded.

She rolled her eyes.

"Tilt your head back and open your mouth. That's it. Are you ready?" he asked.

She looked up at the blue sky and held her mouth open. Giving a slight nod, she closed her eyes and waited for him.

He grinned at the sight for a moment, the prim and proper Lady Mary Crawley dressed in all her finery, sitting back, head raised, eyes closed, and lips held tantalizingly open for him.

"Remember, keep your mouth open. You're going to feel like gagging, but try and suppress it," he warned.

He gingerly reached forward and poured the maraschino cherry and grenadine mixture into her open mouth. As soon as the fruit hit her tongue, he brought the champagne forward with his other hand and tipped in a mouthful.

Her eyes shot open and her head pitched forward, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she struggled to stop from choking on the fizzy drink.

"Swallow! Swallow!" he laughed heartily, taking hold of her shoulders and steadying her. She finally gulped it down and coughed. Her eyes watered as she gasped for breath and grimaced.

"Goodness!" she exclaimed. "That's supposed to be fun, is it?"

"It was fun for me," he chuckled.

She glared up at him and delicately wiped her mouth with a handkerchief.

"All kidding aside, how did it taste?" he asked.

She frowned, trying to recall the flavour before she almost hacked it all up.

"It was quite surprising, very bubbly," she nodded slowly. "It wasn't entirely disagreeable, but I believe I would prefer it made in a more traditional way than your method."

He smiled. "That's rather boring of you but understandable."

She rolled her eyes and reached for a cucumber sandwich. Taking a nibble, she glanced around their picnic spread. Finished with her sandwich, she arched her eyebrow and reached for the champagne bottle he had set back down.

"I believe it's time for you to have a rather special drink, my Lord," she declared, rising up on to her knees and shuffling towards him.

"Hang on, now," he warned, holding his hands up. "These are my lands. I am to be respected when on my lands."

"Quit your squirming," she threatened, grabbing hold of the lapel of his jacket. "Take your punishment like a man."

"Never!" he laughed, reaching out to grab at the bottle in her hands.

She shrieked and laughed as they wrestled over the champagne. He managed to block her several times before she finally succeeded in turning the bottle just enough to pour the bubbly over his face.

"Aha!" she cried victoriously. "See how you like it now!"

"Stop! Stop!" he laughed, turning his head away and managing to tilt the bottle back up, though not before he had quite a bit of it running down his face.

"I shall be merciful since these are your lands," she laughed, setting the champagne bottle back down. She picked up a linen napkin and dabbed at his wet face and neck, smiling at his petulant pout. "There, there. It's not so bad."

He scoffed and smiled at her sarcastically. Taking the napkin from her, he wiped his face and undid his tie and the top button of his shirt, which had been partially soaked from her attack.

"I should be grateful that the servants didn't come with us," he muttered, padding off a few stray drops around his collar. "Carson would have had something to say about all that, I'm sure."

She stared at the suddenly exposed breadth of his neck and chest, her mind recalling spying on him running in the moonlight during the first evening of her stay. She was used to seeing him in his day suits that he wore to work, but he looked far more casual and at ease now, even with his tousled hair from their earlier battle. It was as if his formal clothing hid the man beneath, and getting a glimpse of his body had her looking at him in a different way.

"I'm sure that he would, yes," she nodded, looking away finally and taking a sip of her champagne to cool herself.

Even after living at Downton for years, Matthew still had a much different view of things than the rest of the family. He expected to come home to collect Mary and walk out across the grounds for their picnic, a small basket of sandwiches and fruit, a bottle of wine and a blanket to take with them. He wasn't entirely surprised when he instead found Mary, Carson and two footmen all dressed and ready to head out. He shook his head at the no less than three baskets, two blankets, a linen table cloth and even two parasols that she had equipped their caravan with.

Nodding to the staff apologetically, he told them to put away the parasols, the table cloth and one of the blankets, and to remove some of the china and glasses from the baskets. There was far too much food, but he didn't say anything. She had gone to the effort of putting together a lovely meal for them and he didn't want to appear ungrateful. He did spare Carson and one of the footmen from the journey, and when they reached the designated spot he had picked out for them, he sent the remaining footman back as well. Mary was a bit put out that they had to unpack the baskets and set up the picnic themselves, but she didn't complain, at least not with words.

He had far too many sandwiches and ate most of the salad as well, determined to at least attempt to finish the meal. They sat beneath the shade of an old alder tree on a slight rise, the grounds spread out before them. The sun shone, and though the air was cool, it was more than warm enough for their picnic.

As he sipped his champagne, he stole a glance over at Mary. She had composed herself and resumed her placid pose, sitting with her legs tucked beneath her flowing skirt, one hand holding her champagne flute, the other her tiny sandwich. Once they arrived, she removed her hat and set it aside. The low collar of her blouse and her shorter hair allowed him to glimpse her pale skin, from her nape, down her throat and just a hint of her chest. Her eyes were bright, taking in the landscape, and she smiled and laughed. She looked more vibrant and alive than she had when she first arrived, and it pleased him to know she was enjoying her stay.

"This view is incredible," she smiled. "I can't remember ever coming here before. How did you find it?"

"It's somewhat new, actually," he replied, pointing down the hill to the pond in the distance. "We had that copse reduced so there could be more sun on the water, and we flattened the area around it to make it a bit easier to walk around. This was mostly an unused part of the grounds, but now it's not so bad."

She nodded. "That sounds like quite a lot of work."

"It was fine," he shrugged. "Sir Anthony provided the equipment and there were plenty of former soldiers around to do the labour. It only took a few weeks."

"Sir Anthony and his modern tools of change," she smirked. "He probably jumped at the chance to dig in around here."

"Be nice," he smiled. "He is your brother now, isn't he?"

"My much older brother," she corrected him.

"Well, but for a twist of fate, he could have ended up as your much older husband," he joked.

She frowned. "You're not being clever, you know. Not in the slightest."

"I'm merely pointing out a fact," he chuckled. "Lady Mary Strallan. It does have a ring to it."

She scoffed. "I could say the same of Lady Edith, Countess of Grantham. That was mooted at one point, wasn't it? If only she had dazzled you during your church visits, who knows how many children would be running around this place."

"Edith is dear to me, but I would never have thought of her in such a way," he shook his head. "I think you and Sir Anthony were far more likely. You certainly progressed much further than Edith and I ever did."

Her mouth fell open in shock. "How so? I barely ever spoke to him after that first dinner."

He looked at her with a wry smile. "You don't recall him offering to take you for a drive in his new motor, only to end up taking Edith instead?"

She frowned. "How did you come to know about that?"

"I have my ways," he smiled. "I found it most amusing to hear that Sir Anthony showed up here days later to ask your parents for permission to take Edith to dinner, much to your chagrin."

She huffed. "I was hardly put out by it."

"Maybe not, but it must have been a blow to lose out to your sister so convincingly," he teased.

Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. "If I did lose out to her, which I didn't, it was the only time that's ever happened, and I would say I'm much better off for it, wouldn't you?"

He frowned and looked down to the pond. "I'm not so sure. Sir Anthony has his qualities."

"Loxley is hardly a prize," she rolled her eyes. "Edith has done well there, but it's still nothing compared to Downton."

"Or Haxby," he added, his voice tight.

"Exactly," she muttered, looking down at the blanket. "So you see? Everything has worked out in the end."

"It would seem that way, wouldn't it?" he answered.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, angry at the turn their previously lovely conversation had taken.

"And what about you?" she continued, opening her eyes and looking at him pointedly.

He quirked his eyebrow in curiosity. "What about me?"

"You're eligible," she shrugged, keeping a cool façade though her stomach was rolling. "Younger than most earls, called to the House of Lords, with a country home and two more in London. You're quite the catch."

He grunted ruefully. "Now you sound like Cora."

"Well, I am her daughter," she smiled.

"I don't see any urgency for any of…that," he stated. "I'm more concerned with making sure there still is a Downton in the future, rather than thinking about who will be living here."

"Aren't you afraid that you might miss out on a woman who's perfect for you if you spend all of your days managing the estate?" she asked.

"The timing isn't perfect at the moment," he answered, keeping her gaze. "I'm confident that there is someone out there for me, though, and in time, she will be made available to me."

Her pulse jumped under his probing stare.

"That's a bit naïve, don't you think?" she replied, looking away and across the grounds. "Leaving such an important part of your life to Fate? You should be more proactive, more take charge when it comes to your future."

"I'm not ignoring it if that's what you mean," he replied. "I just believe that all will come good in time, and sometimes patience is a virtue."

She looked back at him and arched her eyebrow.

"That's fair," she nodded. "It is one way of going about things, I suppose."

"You disagree?" he questioned, looking at her suspiciously.

"No, not at all," she shook her head. "However, the fact remains that you are the Earl, and you have no heir as of yet. Your plans for the estate are ambitious, but they won't come off overnight, will they? If you wait for Downton to be as stable as you want, you may be waiting quite a while."

"So I should go and pluck the next belle of the Season and get on with making babies, is that it?" he asked, his voice growing colder.

"If it proves necessary, yes," she said tightly. "In life, we don't have the luxury of picking and choosing which obligations to pursue and which to ignore. Everything has importance to a degree, and so we must devote ourselves to getting on with all of it, rather than assuming that things will take care of themselves."

"I don't believe that forcing the issue does anyone any good," he countered. "You risk committing yourself to someone for mere convenience, rather than for the proper reasons."

"Oh, Matthew, there never is a perfect moment, though, is there?" she scoffed. "There is always something in the way, some reason to delay, some excuse to rely upon. Your prospects are better than most, but you still must make some effort. A woman appreciates a man who doesn't waste time or opportunity."

He frowned. "Such as your husband, for example. He never lets anything pass him by, does he?"

She cringed at the mention of Richard. "He doesn't, no. If he was in your position, he would prioritize the two tasks – building a kingdom and a family. He wouldn't ignore one in favour of the other."

He laughed drily. "No, of course, he wouldn't. He's quite good at setting his priorities, isn't he?"

Her lips pursed into a thin line. "He doesn't back down simply because things appear to be difficult, or because choices may be uncomfortable."

"No, he merely manipulates the situation until it suits him," he retorted, shocked that she would even attempt to defend Carlisle. "It's quite easy to take on anything and everyone when the playing field is already tilted in one's favour."

"That sounds like something one would hear from a sore loser, isn't it?" she said pointedly. "Alleging conspiracies and unjust odds as excuses to explain a defeat, while conveniently deflecting attention away from one's own faults, or lack of decisive action. It's pathetic, rather."

"You prefer the boasting of a man who will do anything to get ahead, do you?" he spat. "Including cheating?"

"How has he cheated, exactly? And at what, pray?" she demanded. "Are you merely speaking in the hypothetical, or making baseless allegations that have no merit?"

He laughed ruefully. "You make him sound like a choir boy."

She glared at him in annoyance. "Hardly. However, in my experience, the insults bandied about regarding him and his business are generally spoken by those he's vanquished. They're hardly being objective."

He huffed. "The list of enemies of Sir Richard Carlisle is long and varied. Simple mathematics would imply they all can't be wrong. He doesn't abide by the rules all of the time because he believes himself to be above them. Even you must admit that."

"Has he broken any law to your knowledge?" she asked.

He frowned.

"No, he hasn't," she continued. "He enjoys a spotless reputation in Society and is entirely above reproach, regardless of what jealous rivals may claim. Men of true power, those who are in positions of influence, have not one bad word to say about him."

"And I'm sure he has you to thank for that," he growled.

Her eyes went wide.

He blinked, not quite believing what he had just said.

"If that's what you believe, then it must be true," she said bitterly, rising to her feet. "My role is to support my husband, and I carry out that role without complaint, as you are very well aware."

He stood up and raised his hand. "Mary…"

"I believe that I'll head back up now. The air has suddenly turned cold and I can't bear to remain here any longer," she declared, her gaze fiery. "I'll send the footmen out to clean up after you, Your Lordship."

She turned away from him and stomped off, her posture rigid. He could see the rage within her as she stormed back to the house.

Watching her disappear into the distance, his shoulders sagged. Finally, when she was but a speck on the horizon dwarfed by the towers of Downton Abbey, he covered his eyes with his hand and sighed in frustration.

* * *

Anna moved swiftly up the servant's stairs, a smile on her face. Being back at Downton Abbey reminded her of how much she missed the big house and Lady Mary. Though she and John were busier than ever at the Grantham Arms, it was wonderful to be back where it all began for them, though so much had changed.

She missed the other staff who came up with her here. Gwen. Daisy. Thomas. She even missed Miss O'Brien and Mr Molesley a little. Seeing Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson was a treat, but they often stopped in when they came to the Village.

With just His Lordship and Lady Mary in residence, it was actually far easier for her than before. The number of rooms that needed cleaning was drastically less since so few of them were in use. She knew it grated on Mr Carson to let go of his past routines and adapt to the new times, but Downton had improved. Even she could see that.

She wondered what exactly was going on. Why was Lady Mary here for a full month and why had His Lordship invited her now all of a sudden? Ever since Lady Mary married Sir Richard, she had retreated to Haxby and London, rarely coming into the Village and almost never going to Downton. Similarly, His Lordship was always busy with work. Outside of the awards banquets for his different sports games, he came in for a drink every once in a while but stayed for just the one.

These past four days had been so very peculiar. One thing that Anna noticed was how much happier His Lordship and Lady Mary were. Her Mistress was in good spirits all of the time, picking and choosing her clothes with great care, and putting so much effort into looking her best. Their conversations were wide ranging and fun. They even laughed and joked together. She asked her all about the Grantham Arms, how they were getting on at their cottage, even about what the other servants were now up to. Anna never had cause to complain about her time with Lady Mary and her sisters, but she felt as if they got on ever better now. Lady Mary seemed so much nicer these past few days.

John had mentioned that His Lordship seemed to be far happier as well. He still worked quite hard, but he didn't seem as rushed in the mornings, or dismissive of questions and calls for instructions that he would have just waved away before. Even leaving the office early to come back for a picnic was out of character for him lately. Anna thought it was a welcome change. The years following Lady Mary's marriage and her father's death had been dark around the house, and it was heartwarming to see His Lordship waking up a bit.

She reached the Family Wing and took her usual route to Lady Mary's bedroom. When she was cleaning earlier while His Lordship and Lady Mary were out for their picnic, she had picked out a dress for her Mistress to wear to dinner. In keeping with the theme of choosing rather modern outfits this week, she dared to suggest a black dress with thin straps and a scooped neck. Rather than the long necklaces that Lady Mary usually favoured, she picked out a black lace choker instead. It was the kind of eye-catching gown that Anna herself would never dare to wear, but it seemed to fit Lady Mary's mood this week – fresh, bold and uninhibited.

She knocked on the door and waited to be admitted, wondering if Lady Mary would find her suggestion too outrageous or not.

"Anna," Mary greeted her when she came in. "I believe I'll be taking dinner here in my room tonight."

Anna blinked in surprise. "Milady?"

Mary turned away from her vanity and looked over at her maid. Her eyes seemed dull and she looked bored or distracted. She hadn't changed out of her day outfit yet and just sat there instead of rising to get dressed.

The dress Anna picked out sat on the bed, untouched.

"I don't think I'm up for a formal dinner tonight," Mary repeated. "Have Mrs Patmore send up a tray. It doesn't have to be anything particularly fancy. I'll just stay here and read before turning in."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded, knowing not to question instructions. She went over to the bed and collected the dress to put back in the dressing room. "Is His Lordship aware that you won't be joining him for dinner?"

"He won't be surprised, I imagine," Mary stated plainly, turning back to her vanity.

"I'm sure he'll be disappointed regardless, Milady," Anna offered, going into the dressing room to hang the dress back up.

"He's not alone in that," Mary noted, looking at herself in the mirror.

* * *

"The dessert tonight is a triple layer lemon pudding, my Lord," Carson announced. "It is ready to be brought up at your leisure."

Matthew didn't bother looking up, finally setting his fork down on the half-finished plate. "Thank you, Carson, but I'm afraid I'm not up for it. Please give my apologies to Mrs Patmore and tell her to set it aside. I'm sure it's very good and I'm sure I'll try it tomorrow."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded. "Will you be taking port?"

"No," Matthew shook his head. "I'm just going to go look over some things in the study. I won't need you for the rest of the night."

Carson looked on with concern as Matthew rose from the table, dropped his napkin on his chair and headed off. This was the melancholy that he had grown used to since Lord Grantham, as he then was, passed away. The arrival of Lady Mary had brightened things considerably these past days, but now it seemed that the brooding version of His Lordship had returned.

"Yes, my Lord. Good night," the butler called.

"Good night, Carson," Matthew replied before leaving the dining room.

* * *

"Milady?" Anna called, coming in the bedroom.

Mary looked up and frowned in question when she saw her maid bring over a plate with a rather scrumptious looking delicacy balanced upon it.

"The dessert tonight was triple layer lemon pudding," Anna informed her. "Mr Carson thought you should have a bit."

She smiled and nodded, accepting the plate while Anna went to collect her used dinner tray.

"Mmm, that's quite nice," Mary nodded, savouring the first spoonful. "I imagine His Lordship enjoyed this. He loves his lemon desserts."

"His Lordship didn't have dessert tonight, Milady," Anna replied, carrying the tray over to the door. "He picked at his dinner and retired to his study, I understand."

Mary looked up in surprise at that information.

"If that will be all, Milady?" Anna asked.

"Yes, thank you, Anna," Mary nodded. "And do pass along my thanks to Carson and Mrs Patmore."

"Yes, Milady," Anna bowed her head and left.

Mary tried another taste of the dessert before giving up and setting it on her nightstand, the lemon turning bitter in her mouth.

* * *

Matthew sat at his desk, staring blankly into space. He held two metal Baoding balls in one hand, rotating them back and forth over and over with his fingers, the screech of the metal rubbing against each other the only sound in the room.

Mother had sent him this as a gift last year, explaining that a friend had picked them up on a trip to London and saying that it would help with stress and help him concentrate. He didn't think there was any scientific evidence to support her claims, but he did enjoy using them from time to time. His mind didn't seem to be any sharper, but the practice of taking the time to specifically sit and use them helped clear other distractions away.

He still couldn't believe how pointless his row with Mary had been. They were having such a splendid time together and it all turned so suddenly. He was rather perturbed when she asked him why he wasn't married yet. She was well aware that Lavinia had passed away just two years ago, and Robert just one. Where did she suppose he had the time to go courting?

As usual, neither one of them would let go of their side of the argument, no matter how preposterous the whole thing was. He could see they were each becoming increasingly stubborn and irascible, for no other reason than not wanting to give in, but he couldn't stop himself. He had to mention Carlisle, which was stupid, and that forced her to defend the man, which only enraged him further. Seeing her storm off was painful, but the way they were going at it, the afternoon was ruined anyway.

He couldn't get over how she seemed to imply that not only was Carlisle above board in all of his dealings but that everything he did was justified by his success. She couldn't possibly believe that. It was one thing if she saw no escape for herself in this life she was now living, but to act as though it was something she preferred all along was ridiculous. He was wracking his brain trying to imagine a way to get her out of the mess of her marriage and she had the nerve to claim all was fine?

He sighed, shaking his head in consternation yet again. Even if her delivery left something to be desired, wasn't her message clear enough?

 _Find yourself a wife, Matthew._

 _Don't waste your life, Matthew._

 _Move on, Matthew._

 _Forget about us, Matthew._

 _We're finished._

He pursed his lips, his fingers still working the balls around and around. His plans seemed to be crumbling all around him, leaving behind the dust of his past and a path forward that he could no longer ignore.

* * *

Mary looked out the window, the darkness of night shrouding everything. Clouds had come in to block out the starlight, leaving the grounds covered in murk. She rubbed her arms, feeling cold and empty, the fire in the hearth and Matthew's updated heating in the house doing little to help.

She frowned and looked over her shoulder. Since she was a child, she was able to pick up the small noises of the house that made their way up to her bedroom. The chime of the clock in the Great Hall late in the evening when there were no other sounds to compete with it. The whistle of the wind outside that flew down from the towers. The creaking of the floorboards as the house settled, or if someone was out in the hall.

She somehow was able to tell who was about based on sound alone. Anna's steps were light and measured. Sybil's were usually quicker and sharper. Carson and Papa had a slow and heavier gait. Kemal Pamuk was near undetectable on that horrid night years ago.

Tonight she could sense someone new. Someone who had never been to her bedroom before.

 _Matthew._

She swallowed, debating whether she should dive back into bed or hold her ground. She took a step towards the door, doing her best to smooth out her robe and decide where to keep her hands when she heard a solid knock at the door.

 _Matthew_.

"Yes?" she called, arching her eyebrow. "Who is it?"

"Mary, it's me," Matthew answered from behind the closed door.

She approached slowly, her heartbeat quickening with anticipation. "Matthew. What are you doing here?"

"I needed to talk to you," he answered, his voice muffled. "May I come in?"

She blinked, debating his question. Richard never asked. He simply rapped twice before opening her door. Looking around, she wondered if she should be seated to receive him or not. Shaking her head, she went to the door and opened it.

"Very well," she nodded, gesturing for him to enter.

He walked past her, willing himself not to look at her. He expected she would already be in her nightgown and robe, so he marched straight to the fireplace. Unfortunately, that brought him in line with her vanity, and he saw her entire form reflected in the mirror. Her shorter hair was straightened, falling almost to her shoulders. Her skin seemed to glow in the firelight, all of the lamps and sconces in her room put out for the evening. Chastising himself for being foolish, he turned around to face her, reminding himself to get on with the task at hand.

"Did you have dinner?" he asked, clenching his teeth a bit over how absurd such a question was at this moment.

"Yes," she nodded. "Anna brought up a tray. It was quite good."

"Mrs Patmore seems to be improving with time," he agreed, glancing at the fire before returning to her.

"It is rather surprising," she nodded. "Did you try the lemon pudding?"

"No," he answered. "I'm sure I will tomorrow or something. It sounded good."

"It was, yes," she confirmed. He was still wearing black tie, having not changed for bed yet. She wondered if he had been angry when word was sent down that she wasn't joining him for dinner. He had eaten, obviously, but Anna said he didn't finish his meal. She imagined him pacing back and forth in his study, agonizing over their fight from earlier. There was a time when she would have enjoyed ruining his evening like that, but tonight, she only felt sad that he had suffered, that they both had.

"Mary, I…" he began.

"Matthew, I'm…" she said at the same time.

They both smiled wryly.

"You first," she nodded.

"Yes, well, I just wanted to apologize for earlier today. I'm sorry that we argued. I was having a wonderful time and thank you for organizing the picnic. It was quite lovely to be out there with you," he muttered.

She managed a smile. "I enjoyed myself also, except for that last bit."

He nodded. "I was also thinking about tomorrow."

"Yes? What would you like to do? If the weather cooperates, I was thinking that we could go into the Village," she offered.

"Mary, I think you should go to London," he stated.

She frowned. "What?"

"You can stay with Edith and Sir Anthony, or with Aunt Rosamund," he continued. "You can even get a hotel if you like, but I think it would be safer for you to stay with family."

"What do you mean? Why wouldn't I stay here?" she asked.

He shook his head. "There's no reason for you to remain. I'll be busy with work over the coming weeks so rather than be trapped here, you can go to the city."

"But the terms. Our arrangement requires that I…" she struggled.

"Our arrangement is at an end," he declared. "You have fulfilled your duty. I shall deem your husband's debt paid in full. You may advise him upon his return that your stay was satisfactory to me and the matter is closed."

"But it's barely been four days," she mumbled, grasping for any response she could think of.

"It's been a lovely four days," he nodded. "I do not require you any further. Anna can pack your things tomorrow and my driver will take you to the train station. You can be in London in time for dinner."

She looked down, stunned at this new development.

"Good night, Mary," he nodded, heading for the door. "Safe travels."

He moved to step past her. Before he could go any further, her hand reached up and stopped him, grabbing hold of his chest.

He turned and looked at her in shock. She looked up at him with wide eyes.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, her voice quiet. "Why are you sending me away?"

"It would be best if you went to London," he managed, feeling the heat from her hand through his clothes.

"Best for who?" she questioned.

"For everyone," he replied. "I shall not keep you here against your will."

He gently took her hand, removed it from his front and continued on to the door.

"You think that I don't want to be here?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

He stopped and closed his eyes, pausing before he turned around to face her again.

"Our arrangement is all that binds you here," he said, his eyes locked on hers. "There is no other reason for you to stay, so I release you from that obligation."

She turned and stepped towards him. "Don't you want me to stay? Don't you want me here?"

"You'll always be welcome here as a member of this family, and you may visit whenever your husband permits it," he replied. "But as for now, it would be improper to require you to remain."

"You're not answering my question," she accused him, taking another step towards him. "What do you want? What do you want me to do?"

He swallowed, his eyes dropping to her full lips, and glancing down to her thin robe. He could make out the curve of her breast, and he snapped his attention back up to her face, his cheeks warming.

"I want you to be safe. I don't want your husband to be angry over your stay here. If you go to London, he'll be annoyed that I let you out of the arrangement, but he won't be nearly as furious as if you were to stay, I expect," he explained.

"Don't do that," she shook her head. "Don't mention him and use him as an excuse. He has nothing to do with this."

"Of course, he has everything to do with this!" he glared at her. "It was because of him and his stupid bet that this came about in the first place!"

"His bet was with Tony, not you," she pointed out. "Why did you join in?"

"I was trying to protect you from such a deplorable situation!" he snarled. "He's your husband but you're still part of this House. I couldn't just sit by and watch you being exchanged like a piece of property."

"But you raised the bet," she noted. "Richard bet a weekend with me and you raised it to a month. Why?"

He blinked. "I…"

She stepped towards him. "You could have simply agreed to his terms. Why did you demand more?"

"It was just to one-up him. It was all bravado, that's it. I got caught up in the moment," he muttered.

"You're lying," she snapped. "You could have won the bet as it was originally proposed and accomplished your goal of keeping me safe from Tony. Why insist on a month? Why bring it up at all?"

"I wanted to teach him a lesson, that's all," he replied.

She shook her head. "You wanted me here for a full month. You wanted him to have to send me here, to you, for a month. If you wanted me to go to London, you could have ordered it to be so earlier. If you wanted to keep me away from him, you could have had me remain at Haxby while he was in India. You wanted me here. Alone. With you."

He swallowed, staring at her, his breathing ragged.

"You still want me here," she concluded. "You don't want me to leave."

"Mary," he whispered. "You can't be here. Word will get around. People will talk."

"That's all in the future," she hissed, looking from his eyes to his lips and back up again. "Right here. Right now. What do you want? Tell me."

"I wish things were different, but they're not…" he said.

"No, they're not, but we're alone now," she remarked. "It's just the two of us here. Just leave the rest of it aside for tonight and be honest with me, please."

He nodded.

"You don't want me to go, do you?" she asked carefully.

"No, of course, I don't," he shook his head.

"Why not?" she probed.

"I want you here with me," he said softly. "You don't belong at Haxby, or in London, or anywhere else. This is your home."

"With you?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yes."

She swallowed, tears gathering in her eyes as his earnest gaze seemed to burn away the layers of hurt and pain that she'd accumulated, leaving her clean and exposed.

He moved towards her, his blue eyes seeming to cloud over. "He doesn't love you. Not like I do. I love you, Mary. I've always loved you. I didn't think it was possible to love the way that I love you, but I do."

She gasped in shock and joy, her heart threatening to burst from her chest. Relief, warmth and arousal blazed within her. Barely able to keep her wits about her, she looked up at him and smiled.

"Why did you ask for a month?" she breathed out.

"Because I didn't want just a weekend," he shook his head. "I don't want just a week, just a month, just a year. I want the rest of our lives, and I was hoping that if I could bring you here for a month, I'd have the time for us to start fresh, to get back what we once had, the way we were together, how easy and fun it was."

She laughed and nodded happily. "And you were right. These past four days have been glorious."

He grinned. "They have been, yes. Even the arguing."

She laughed again and shook her head. "Even the arguing. You're still the only man capable of keeping up with me."

He smiled and reached for her, his hands framing her face as he came close.

She looked up at him, her lips parting as she let go of all of her reservations and fears and lost herself in his adoring eyes.

"There's something else, my darling," he said. "Something else that I want."

She nodded.

"I know it's wrong to covet another man's wife," he said.

She swallowed nervously.

"But I know what it is to live without you, and I can't imagine anything worse than that," he confessed.

She nodded. "Me, too."

"The reason I asked for a month was that I was hoping to show you that we can still be together if we try. I'm not saying it will be easy. It will be near impossible, but I'll fight for you, Mary. I swear it. I can't do it alone. I hoped to use this month to convince you to fight with me," he told her.

She looked up into his blue eyes, felt his warm and soothing touch on her cheeks. Her mind immediately conjured all of the warnings against this very moment they were caught up in. Granny's voice came to her, filled with doom and reciting all the reasons why this was far more impossible than Matthew knew. Accepting his offer and going to London was the prudent course of action. Putting distance between them was what was required, giving her the space to build up her defences again and hide away her feelings.

"So go on and convince me," she invited him, desire blooming in her chest.

He grinned devilishly and pulled her to him.

She was expecting raw lust but instead, he gave her the softest of kisses, his lips caressing hers, touching her lightly over and over. His breath was warm, the scent of his cologne pleasant and soothing. Her senses filled with him and her heart soared. It had been so long since she'd kissed anyone properly, or actually felt anything from the act. She was brought back to the night of his proposal, their first kiss, so unexpected and wonderful. Had she ever kissed any man quite like that? Had she ever had a better kiss before or since? She didn't know, but it seemed that Matthew was determined to put it to shame.

"Mary," he whispered against her lips before he was blazing a trail across her neck and up to her ear. She clung to him, her hands sliding beneath his arms and across his back, pulling him close and savouring the feel of his body and the touch of his lips on her skin.

"I want you," he whispered, his arms coming around her.

"Take me," she begged, giving in to the rapture overwhelming them both. "Make me yours."

Her body seemed to move on its own, her feet backing her up towards the bed, her hands moving to slide his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, freeing his tie, undoing the buttons of his shirt. She had never undressed a man before, but she was almost desperate in her motions now, undoing his cufflinks, his belt, and whipping his clothes off as fast as she could. She groaned when she felt the bare skin of his strong arms and firm chest, discovering with her fingers what her eyes had feasted upon the other night.

Her legs touched the foot of the bed and she sat down, finally opening her eyes and looking up at him. His shirt was off, his trousers undone. He had kicked off his shoes on the way to the bed, and he stared down at her with a confident smirk, the fire behind him making him appear otherworldly.

He leaned forward and kissed her again, gently and slowly, as if he was telling her that they had all the time in the world. She knew that wasn't true, but she didn't care. She returned his kisses and pulled him close, letting him ease her down on to her back.

She shut her eyes tight when he drew away, kissing his way down her body. He untied her robe and opened it up, a shiver running through her as she felt the charged air through her nightgown. His fingers moved down, ghosting over her breasts and sliding past her waist, finally gathering the hem of her nightgown and lifting it up. She raised her hips to assist him, seeing only darkness as she kept her eyes closed. When he pulled her knickers off, her pulse sped up, a fierce blush colouring her cheeks at being so vulnerable to him.

The familiar jolt of trepidation invaded her thoughts as she waited for him to spread her legs and claim her. It had hurt with Pamuk. It wasn't nearly as painful with Richard but was just barely tolerable. She knew it would be so much better with Matthew, but she still braced herself for the inevitable discomfort. At least this time she was choosing her lover freely and without being forced or coerced. She just hoped that it would be good for him. He deserved that at the very least.

Her eyes shot open when she didn't feel his hips pressing against hers, but the light kiss of his lips on her thigh. Daring to lift her head, she looked down and her eyes almost bulged out of her head when she saw his blonde hair between her thighs, his eyes closed as he pressed kiss after kiss all over her. Her breath caught when he moved to her centre and kissed her down there before giving her a long and languid sweep of his tongue.

"Oh!" she moaned, shocked by how loud she was. The sound drew his eyes up to look at her to make sure she was all right.

"What are you…what…" she gasped, unable to catch her breath or slow her pulse.

"Shh," he smiled. "Let me love you, Mary."

Her eyelids fluttered as he kissed her again before lavishing her most intimate places with his lips and tongue.

"Matthew!" she cried, turning her head to the side. The feelings grew even more intense with her eyes closed. He seemed to know exactly what to do, the perfect amount of pressure to apply to his task. She opened her legs further for him, too far gone to care about how wanton she was behaving. Never before had she imagined a man would ever do this to her, and despite how outrageous it seemed, she couldn't get enough.

He was relentless and unwavering, seemingly focused entirely on her pleasure. He would look up at her every so often, his hungry eyes keeping her captivated, forcing her to watch, which only aroused her even more. Her release surprised her, rushing forward faster than she expected, and just as he had her dangling on the edge, he moved his fingers up and pressed down on her while spearing her with his tongue.

"Ah!" she shouted, overcome by the intensity of it all, the force of her bliss finally closing her eyes. She shook from the waves crashing through her, her arms spread out to her sides, clutching at the bedsheets for purchase.

He kissed his way up her body, taking her nightgown with him. He lingered on her stomach before uncovering her breasts and paying them avid attention. She was too busy trying to catch her breath to do anything but lie there and enjoy his ministrations, every touch building upon the high she was already riding.

"God, you are so beautiful," he raved, moving up to kiss her lips softly.

"Mmm, that was unbelievable," she gasped, kissing him back. "I've never…that was the first time that I…"

He chuckled and kissed her cheek, his fingers fondling her breast lightly. "I'm so glad. So happy that I could do that for you."

She laughed freely and ran her hands up and down his chest. "And what can I do for you, my Lord?"

He smiled and shook his head. "None of that. Not here. Not tonight. We are equals in every way."

She grinned and drew him down for a heated kiss. The taste of his mouth only made her more delirious with need.

"Have you thought about this before?" she asked, her voice sultry and wicked. "Have you imagined making love to me?"

"So many times," he admitted, kissing her neck. "You kept me going when things were darkest, Mary. Thinking of you, dreaming of you, it was all I had sometimes."

She swallowed and looked up at him, the weight of the moment suddenly closing in on her. Finding her courage, she kissed him and reached up to caress his face.

"I hope that I measure up," she teased, arching her eyebrow at him.

He leered at her. "You've vastly exceeded my expectations."

She smirked and eased her way up the bed, trying to quell her nerves. His gaze was so fierce, so caring. Kemal had looked at her as prey. Richard saw her as an object. But Matthew looked at her with such unabashed love. It made her feel unworthy and all-powerful at the same time.

She sat up and removed her robe, casting it aside before she lifted her nightgown over her head, baring herself fully to him. He stood up and slowly pushed his trousers down his legs. His pants followed.

Her eyes widened.

Smiling with confidence, he crawled towards her. She swallowed, devouring every inch of him. Had he always been so fit? Were his shoulders truly that broad? Were his arms really so sculpted? She was reminded of Michelangelo's David or paintings of heroes and warriors. Yet, when he loomed over her and her hands ran up and down his sides, he became Matthew again. Strong, yes. Powerful, surely. But he wasn't some mythological being, some perfect man. Her fingers touched the scars across his ribs and on his back and she smiled up at him. This was the man she knew, the man she loved, in all of his imperfect glory.

"Are you ready?" he asked, kissing her forehead.

She nodded her head, reaching up to hold on to his neck as he settled between her legs.

"I love you," he whispered just before he pushed inside of her.

She moaned at the contact, arching her back and clinging to him as he filled her. He took hold of her leg and opened her up further, going slowly and carefully to let her adjust. She chanted and keened, unable to stop herself, his every thrust perfect and devastatingly wonderful.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he grunted.

She opened her eyes and gaped up at him in shock. Of course, curse words weren't new to her but never had she heard them exclaimed in passion before.

He smiled down at her before kissing her heatedly, his tongue pushing past her lips and playing with hers while his hips increased their pace.

She held tight to him, moaning anew when he released her mouth. Every other time that she had been with a man she had done her duty and nothing more. Lay back and think of England and all that. This time, she moved her hips in small circles, not quite sure what she was doing but wanting to show him how much she was enjoying this, wanting this, wanting him.

"Say it, Mary," he growled, their foreheads touching as he moved ever faster. "Say it."

She looked up at him, breathing the same air he was so close.

"Fuck," she moaned, her eyes widening as he rewarded her with an even deeper thrust. "Fuck. Fuck! Fuck!"

He growled harshly and buried his face in her hair.

"Fuck! Fuck!" she gasped, kissing his cheek and anywhere else she could reach, her arms wrapped around his back now, his chest teasing her breasts delightfully.

"Fuck me, Matthew! Fuck me!" she called, completely lost to the moment now. She shouted again when she went over a second time, both from the shock that she was even capable of experiencing such pleasure twice in such quick succession and from the sheer euphoria bursting within her.

She held him tight, squeezing him with everything she had while he kept at her. She had no idea what she was doing, but she needed to be closer to him, needed to feel him in her very soul. Their hearts were beating so close together, and she felt completely enclosed by the weight and heat of his body on top of her. She wasn't Lady Mary Carlisle anymore. She was barely even Lady Mary Crawley. She was simply Matthew's, and she felt loved and cherished and desired more than at any other time in her entire life.

"Mary!" he groaned and suddenly he was gone, raised up off of her and sitting back. She felt empty without him and she stared up at him in confusion, wondering what was happening.

His eyes were upon her while his hand reached down to stroke himself. She gasped and sat up, her legs feeling weak and aching, but her heart was still beating quickly. Her eyes moved up his body and found his, realization dawning upon her when she stared into those deep blue pools.

"Mary!" he gasped, his eyes shutting and his mouth hanging open.

She looked back down just in time to watch him spend all over his stomach. Her breath caught at the sight, arousal spiking in her veins at having witnessed something so intimate.

He gulped in air, sitting back to avoid soiling the bedsheets. He looked over at her in wonder. This was Mary, his love, naked and bare before him, her skin flushed and her eyes dark from their lovemaking. Even her perfect hair was wonderfully dishevelled.

"Did that feel good?" she asked, arching her eyebrow and coming over to him.

He laughed and lay back down on his back. "Very. And you?"

"What do you think?" she smiled, kissing him lightly. "Shall I fill your ego to bursting by telling you how incredible that was, or is it enough for you that you had me screaming like a banshee?"

He chuckled and stroked her back. "Be as loud as you like. We're the only ones here."

"Mmm, I'll keep that in mind," she teased, kissing him again. "That was very considerate of you at the end."

He looked at her curiously. "I didn't want to take any liberties. Besides, I left my armour behind. It isn't as though I thought I'd be needing one."

She laughed and nodded. "I'll go and fetch you a towel. I should hate to have to explain to Anna any unfortunate stains on the carpet."

He groaned and rolled his eyes while she got up out of bed and went over to the bathroom.

"Thank you," he smirked, reaching for the towel when she came back.

She got back into bed with him and stared as he cleaned himself. It was shocking all that she had experienced tonight with him, and yet she couldn't bring herself to feel anything but happy. There would be time enough to weigh the consequences of their actions and all that had now changed between them, but when he held out his arm to her, she came to him eagerly, kissing him before fitting herself against his side, her head nestled against his chest.

"Matthew?" she called.

"Yes?" he answered.

She turned her head and looked up at him. "I love you too, so very, very much."

His entire face seemed to light up and she laughed at the sight before relaxing against him again.

He held her, linking their fingers together across his stomach. He didn't pretend that this solved anything, or that what they had done would bring them any closer to a solution to the quandary they found themselves in, but as he stroked her back and felt her body against him, he felt as if he could accomplish anything, that nothing was impossible so long as she was with him.

She breathed deeply, revelling in lying naked with Matthew, in her bedroom at Downton Abbey of all places. This felt so very right, and she was elated. Tonight would only make leaving him at the end of the month all the more horrible, but she didn't think about that. Their first time together had been everything she ever imagined and so much more, and she took comfort in knowing she would have this night to remember for the rest of her days.


	5. Chapter 5

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew?" she called.

"Yes?" he answered.

She turned her head and looked up at him. "I love you too, so very, very much."

His entire face seemed to light up and she laughed at the sight before relaxing against him again.

He held her, linking their fingers together across his stomach. He didn't pretend that this solved anything, or that what they had done would bring them any closer to a solution to the quandary they found themselves in, but as he stroked her back and felt her body against him, he felt as if he could accomplish anything, that nothing was impossible so long as she was with him.

She breathed deeply, revelling in lying naked with Matthew, in her bedroom at Downton Abbey of all places. This felt so very right, and she was elated. Tonight would only make leaving him at the end of the month all the more horrible, but she didn't think about that. Their first time together had been everything she ever imagined and so much more, and she took comfort in knowing she would have this night to remember for the rest of her days.

 **Chapter 5:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew. Matthew."

Matthew breathed deeply, his eyelids opening halfway and finding only darkness. He blinked in confusion, wondering what had woken him when it clearly wasn't morning yet. He moved to rise when a firm hand shoved him back down to the bed and soft lips captured his mouth.

"Mmph," he groaned before chuckling thickly. He reached up and wound his fingers through silken hair before sliding his hand down along the soft nape of Mary's neck, savouring the kiss a bit more. He hummed in delight when her tongue played with his, and his hand moved down her back and around to fondle her breast, her lips finally letting him go moments later.

"You're real," he smiled up at her, the dim flickering light of the fire dancing in her eyes.

She smiled and kissed him again. "Very real, indeed. Did you think I was but a figment of your imagination?"

"It wouldn't be the first time that I imagined making love to you," he said smoothly. "Waking up afterwards isn't usually this enjoyable, though."

He rolled them over, drawing a laugh from her as he turned her on to her back and kissed her neck. Her laughter turned to a purr of pleasure when he reached down and raised her leg, hooking it across his hip.

"Matthew," she drawled, pushing gently against his chest. "Darling, we can't."

"What?" he questioned, stopping immediately and raising his head to look at her in concern.

She smiled reassuringly and caressed his cheek. "I didn't mean that we can't ever again. I meant that we can't right now. There isn't enough time."

"Why not? What time is it?" he asked. Glancing over his shoulder at her bedroom windows, he noticed that the sky had begun to lighten.

"It'll soon be dawn," she said, drawing his gaze back to her. "Anna will be rising shortly and she can't find you here."

"So just ring for her later," he suggested, resuming kisses to her shoulder and moving down towards her breast. "I'm sure she would appreciate a bit of a lie in, as would I."

She smiled and arched her back when his tongue licked her sensitive flesh. Moving her hands to his shoulders, she meant to push him away, but his lips and tongue drew a moan of delight from her and held her fast.

"Darling, please," she sighed, stroking his hair as he lit her arousal. "We'll get carried away again. You have to go."

He sighed and stopped his attentions, lifting his head yet again. "Mary, Anna and Bates are probably the two most trustworthy servants in all of Yorkshire. I'm sure we can rely upon them to be discrete."

She felt his arousal against her thigh, but she gathered just enough strength to resist when he tried to resume his seduction. Cupping his chin, she raised his head again and held his attention.

"Matthew, I trust Anna completely, but I won't put her in a difficult position. Richard has tried to interrogate them before," she advised.

"What?" he frowned in surprise.

She nodded sadly. "Who knows where Richard's spies are lurking? Here we're safe, but what about in the Village, or elsewhere in the county? I don't want him to have any actual knowledge of what we've gotten up to during my stay. The less that Anna and Bates see and know, the better, both for them and for us. That means you must gather your clothes and be gone, so that she can always truthfully claim that she never saw us together."

He rolled his eyes and eased himself off of her. Swinging his legs around, he sat up on the edge of the bed, his head falling back as he tried to calm himself.

"I'm sorry, darling, truly," she whispered, kissing her way up his bare back and pressing herself against him. "If I could, I would keep you here all day and never let you leave this bed."

"Mary, that's hardly helping me muster the strength to go back to my room," he whinged. "I do need to walk there, you know, which you are making quite difficult at the moment."

She laughed and reached around to fondle him lightly. "Goodness. Your powers of recovery are quite impressive."

"Unfortunately, you will not be able to experience it first hand," he taunted her cheekily. "I suppose I won't see you until after breakfast now."

"You suppose right," she smiled, leaving him and lying back against the pillows. "You can say goodbye to me before I leave for the train station."

He frowned and looked back at her. "What?"

"Was I not ordered to go to London?" she asked airily. "I thought that was your command?"

"Don't play with me," he warned, standing up with a grunt. "You know that I didn't mean it."

"I suppose I'll stay then, if my Lord wishes it," she smirked.

"Don't call me that," he smiled, reaching down to begin collecting his clothes. He fumbled around until he found his pants and trousers and struggled back into them. "I told you. You're the woman I love, not a slave."

"Perhaps not a slave, but what about a student?" she teased.

He swallowed tightly and looked over at her.

She arched her eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips. "You're clearly more experienced than I am in the acts of love. Will you teach me, Matthew? I want to learn how to please you."

He groaned in protest, running his hand through his hair. "You are horrid when you want to be."

She grinned. "I know. But you love me, don't you?"

He looked at her and grinned. "Madly."

She rose up on her knees and came over to him, kissing him one last time. His hands slid around her waist and squeezed her bottom playfully.

"I want to take a walk with you across the grounds," he advised. "There's a place that I mean to show you today."

"Very well. I'll come down after breakfast," she replied.

"Good," he nodded stepping away from her and picking up the rest of his clothes.

She tucked herself in beneath the covers and smiled at the sight of him wandering around her bedroom topless and snatching up the remains of his tuxedo. When he had everything gathered in a messy bundle, he made his way to the door. He was about to turn and bid her goodbye when she surprised him by sneaking up behind him and pulling him into one last deep kiss.

"I know it's wrong to say it, but I meant what I said," she whispered, her cheeks blushing red. "I want you to teach me."

"I'll remember that," he mumbled, taking in her naked body one last time before he left.

She closed the door behind him and leaned against it, smiling merrily at all that had transpired last night, a mix of wonder and disbelief on her face. Eventually, she went over and picked up her nightgown, put it back on and went back to bed. She would wait to ring for Anna as she was still worn out from last night. Snuggling against the pillow, she smiled, thinking of all that awaited them over the remaining month of her stay and just how much she was looking forward to it.

* * *

"I'll need my grey skirt, together with the matching jacket and hat," Mary instructed her maid. "Lord Grantham and I are taking a walk."

"Yes, Milady," Anna nodded, heading into the dressing room to retrieve the garments. "I'm glad to see that you and His Lordship are getting along."

"Well, he was quite rude to me yesterday, but without getting into the details, I've decided to forgive him for now," Mary replied. "This walk was planned before we had a bit of a quarrel yesterday afternoon, and so I feel as though I should keep the appointment as planned."

"Yes, Milady," Anna agreed, setting out the clothes on the bed before going back for a new slip and blouse for her Mistress. "His Lordship must be pleased to have you staying here. He's been in a much better mood as of late according to Mr Carson."

"I'm sure he just enjoys having someone else to talk to," Mary smiled. "With Sybil and Edith married off and Mama in America, he's all alone here. One can only tolerate so many chats with Granny, you know."

Anna grinned. "I don't think that Lady Grantham has been by too often, Milady, at least not on her own. She usually waits for Lady Rosamund or Lady Edith to come by."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That's not surprising. She's probably afraid of being alone with His Lordship, lest he subject her to an inquisition on how to be an Earl."

"I should think she would look forward to that, Milady," Anna giggled. "She's quite proud of the family history, isn't she? Quite rightly so, I should add."

"She's proud of some of it, Anna, the part that Lord Grantham already knows quite well. Everyone has a past, you know, and in some respects, we often would rather just leave it there," Mary sighed.

"Even Lady Grantham?" Anna asked jokingly.

"Yes, Anna," Mary nodded, looking seriously at her reflection in the full-length mirror as she held out her arms for Anna to put on her blouse. "Even Granny."

* * *

"We could have taken horses, you know," Mary suggested as they trudged up another hill. "Or the wagonette if you still don't know how to ride."

"I'm perfectly capable in the saddle," he frowned. "However, if we did ride out, the groom would feel compelled to inquire as to where we were going, or worse, offer to accompany us. It's easier this way."

"And where exactly are we going?" she asked. "I should hope it isn't a place that's easily accessible by road, or else I'll make you walk back by yourself to fetch your car."

He laughed and shook his head, reaching out and putting his gloved hand across her back. "Come on. It's just up ahead."

She rolled her eyes but gave him a mischievous smile. They crested the rise and her annoyance evaporated as he pointed out their destination just a small ways away.

"Oh, Matthew," she exclaimed, her eyes widening at the cabin in the distance. "Is that…?"

"Your father's hunting lodge," he nodded. "The roof needed to be replaced and I made some renovations to it. Care to go and have a look?"

She smiled at him and nodded, taking his arm and leaning into him. "Lead on."

He grinned and kissed her lightly before escorting her down the other side of the hill and across the field to the lodge.

The door no longer creaked. That was the first thing she noticed when they went inside. The musty smell was gone as well, replaced by the scent of fresh wood, pine needles and wildflowers. She closed her eyes and breathed in, grinning at the warm memories that came flooding back.

"What do you think?" he asked, closing and locking the door behind them.

"I've barely set foot inside," she noted, arching her eyebrow at him, though she smiled playfully. "I shall reserve judgment until after I receive a proper tour."

He laughed and nodded in agreement. "Fair enough."

He took her coat and hung it up on the wall along with his. She thought she would freeze. The hunting lodge was always frigid. Instead, she found it quite comfortable.

"First, the roof was the most glaring issue," he explained. "Many of the beams were rotted because of the cold and rain seeping through gaps and such. That was the largest undertaking, but there was plenty more required to sort of turn the place from a mere shelter to an actual lodge. We insulated the walls and sealed the windows a bit better. That's why it's actually bearable in here now."

He showed her around, pointing out how he had the new roof elevated to create a two-level lodge, with a taller ceiling above the dining area, and a proper kitchen in the back rather than the cramped space that served as the makeshift galley before. She followed him around, noting his changes and exploring a bit for herself. Since she was a child, she and her sisters had come here regularly. They would stay behind at the lodge and help Carson and the others ready the place for lunch, and when they were old enough, they went out to stand with the men during each Shoot. The tradition had waned in recent years, first with the interruption of the War, and afterwards with so few men returning to carry it on. There was the New Year Shoot in almost two years ago, but Matthew hadn't hosted one after the death of Papa. She could see now that it was in his plans considering how warm and welcoming this place now was.

"What's up here?" she asked as they went upstairs to the new second floor.

He followed her up, unable to help himself from admiring her bottom framed by her grey skirt. All morning he seemed to feel giddy whenever he looked at her or touched her innocently, visions of last night immediately coming to mind. He swallowed tightly and tried to calm himself as they reached the upstairs hallway.

"Bedrooms," she noted, smirking at him knowingly. "How convenient."

"Part of my plans moving forward involves opening up the grounds at different times of the year. If we rent out the lodge to hunting parties, they can stay here for a few days and have their sport, and we'll never be bothered up at the big house," he informed her.

She nodded slowly, glancing around the small, but functional bedroom. The idea of strangers traipsing across her family lands was difficult to accept, but these were changing times, and the old ways would simply not sustain them any further.

His eyes widened when she wandered into the room and sat down on the bed. She felt the quilt cover and looked around appraisingly.

"This seems comfortable enough," she declared, looking at him mischievously. "Has it had any use as of yet?"

He cleared his throat and took a careful step forward. "Not for some time. It was taken from one of the spare rooms in the Bachelor's Wing."

"Ah, well, perhaps we should ensure that it will hold up," she suggested. "You wouldn't want any of your paying guests to find your accommodations wanting."

He frowned and came over to her. "I think it's fine, really. Come on. There's still more to show you."

He reached out his hand to help her up and she instead took it and pulled him to stand before her. Arching her eyebrow, she undid his belt before he could react.

"Mary!" he hissed, staring down at her as she made quick work of his trousers.

"Isn't this why you brought me here? Truly?" she teased. "You want to have me out here, don't you? In the wild?"

"No!" he protested weakly. "Mary, I don't need you to…"

"I want to," she nodded, smiling as she pulled his pants down and freed him. "I'm not fragile, darling. I won't break. I love you and I want to know everything with you. Everything."

He groaned when she leaned forward and kissed him along his waist. His arousal swelled as the blood rushed through his veins. He thought he might topple over but he couldn't look away from her.

"I've never done this before," she whispered, shaking her head at him. "I've never…with my mouth."

She blushed fiercely.

His mouth fell open.

"I want to…" she muttered, her breathing quickening. "I want to for you."

She took hold of him with her gloved hand and kissed him.

"Oh God, Mary!" he gasped.

She smiled as she teased him with her tongue. "Am I doing this right?"

"Yes!" he croaked.

She bravely opened her mouth and took him in, the feel, scent and taste of him filling her. She expected to be overwhelmed, perhaps even disgusted, but she was surprised to find she wasn't. To be so brazen and wanton, to act so unlike her, was thrilling and overcame any caution she still had. Breathing deeply, she took a bit more of him before pulling back and looking up at him cheekily.

"Was that all right?" she asked.

He nodded vigorously.

She grinned. "More?"

"Please," he begged. "Just do whatever you feel comfortable with, my darling."

Emboldened by his reaction, she tasted him again, this time closing her lips around him and taking more of him. His moans of pleasure spurred her on, and she worked him back and forth, the depraved sounds coming from her own throat only feeding her growing addiction. The dark side of her momentarily flared in delight, so smug that she was giving Matthew a gift that Richard would never have, but the thought died as quickly as it came. Hearing the man she loved enjoying himself so thoroughly because of her attentions was more than enough to please her and forget everything and everyone else.

She released him and took a deep breath, swallowing to clear her throat. Before she could continue, he stopped her and caressed her cheek.

"Thank you, my darling," he whispered reverently. "That was incredible."

"I'm not done yet," she smirked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"I think that it would be best if you stopped," he nodded. "I won't be able to contain myself much longer, I'm afraid."

She smiled naughtily. "That's the point, isn't it?"

His eyes widened. "Mary, I shouldn't…"

"I'm only doing what you so wonderfully did for me last night," she said, kissing him lightly. "Don't you want to finish in my mouth?"

"Oh God, Mary!" he grunted, closing his eyes briefly to cling to control. He reached down and removed her hand, somehow finding the strength to pull up his pants and trousers and compose himself.

"You're far too good to me," he smiled, helping her up from the bed.

"You're doing this deliberately, aren't you?" she accused, kissing him quickly. "Denying me now so that I'll crave it later?"

He kissed her gloved hand. "It's more about being practical. I need the use of my legs if I'm to get back to the house."

She laughed and took his arm, following him back out to the hall. The tour of the other bedrooms and the bathroom went far more safely, and he brought her back downstairs after letting her see the beams in the roof that had to be replaced.

"I added a small thing here," he explained when they reached the ground floor once again. "Just a silly cosmetic piece."

"Matthew Crawley, vain?" she gasped in mock surprise. Her teasing ended when he showed her a small plaque attached to the main pillar of the lodge. It listed the name of their family, the original date that the lodge was built, and the date it was renovated.

"Hopefully, it will survive over time," he shrugged. "So that future generations can see what we built here."

She smiled and touched the metal. "It's perfect."

He grinned and took her hand. He showed her the storage closets where the guns and ammunition could be properly stored under lock and key. He brought her through the dining area and around to the front room of the lodge to end the tour.

"I thought the place could use something a bit better than stuffed animal heads everywhere," he explained, turning her to look at the lounge area.

Some of the stone around the fireplace had been updated, and the new chairs and sofa seemed far more comfortable than the wooden stools of yesteryear. Her breath caught when she looked above the hearth and instead of seeing the requisite stuffed head of a stag or boar, mounted in a place of honour was a portrait of her father.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered, stepping forward and looking up at Robert Crawley. Papa stood tall and proud, his arms crossed over his chest, a hunting rifle balanced in the crook of his elbow, and his familiar brown hat perched on his head. His face was stoic but the artist had captured his benevolent eyes perfectly. He seemed to be watching over the entire room, and she imagined the hunting party all looking up at him as they went out for the next drive, the Earl of Grantham giving them his blessing and best wishes.

"I still miss him, you know," Matthew said softly, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. "He taught me so much, even when I was a rather reluctant student."

She sniffled and nodded. "He thought of you as so much more than just his heir. You were his son. He was always so very proud."

He held her close, trying to soothe her with his touch. "I never told him this, but I always believed it took a special kind of man to invite a total stranger into his home and hand him the keys to his kingdom. He would say he was just doing his duty, but I didn't see it that way. He made me feel welcome and believed I would one day be a fine Earl, even though he had no legitimate reason to think so. It was enough that we were related, even distantly. We shared a common blood, and that was enough for him. He was incredibly patient with me and had so much faith, just because we were family."

She closed her eyes and sobbed, covering her mouth with her gloved hand.

"I'm sorry, darling," he sighed, turning her around and taking her into his hold. "I know it's hard for you."

She cried into his shoulder, holding on to him as she wept.

"There, there," he comforted her, massaging her back. "It's all right. I didn't bring you here to make you sad."

"No, no, it's fine, really," she sniffled, accepting his handkerchief and wiping her eyes. "It's just that…oh, never mind."

"What? Mary? What is it?" he asked gently. "You can tell me. You can tell me anything."

She swallowed and looked at him, and for a moment, staring at his loving eyes, she believed that she could tell him anything, tell him everything. Nodding her head, she composed herself and hugged him gratefully.

"I just miss him, that's all," she whispered. "Thank you so much for everything. You didn't have to preserve his memory but I'm so glad that you did."

"I know that I wasn't always as appreciative as I ought to have been for everything he did for me, but that's changed now. This is my home, and this is my family, and he'll always be a part of that," he promised.

"You don't know what it means to me to hear you say that," she sighed, closing her eyes and holding him close.

"Come on," he smiled, easing away from her and putting his arm around her shoulders. "Let's head back."

She nodded bravely and took one last look at Papa's portrait before heading outside into the sunshine.

* * *

"Mr Carson, we seem to have a rather large supply of candles in the hall closet," Mrs Hughes noted, coming into the butler's office.

"For emergencies, Mrs Hughes," Carson replied, not looking up from his ledgers. "Electricity is all the rage now, I know, however, generators can develop problems, as we've seen."

"Yes, that's true," the head housekeeper smiled. "Surely, we can make do with what we have now. A year's worth should be enough to see us through any storm."

He looked up and frowned at her. "Very well. You may cancel next month's order."

"A wise decision, Mr Carson, since I already did," she smirked.

His mouth fell open in shock before he harrumphed and shook his head.

"Don't be so grumpy, now," she scolded him lightly. "I've cancelled this weekend's visit to my sister's, if that makes you any happier."

He blinked in surprise. "That does make me happy, yes, but only if that means I shall have the honour of my wife's company without any interruptions?"

She blushed and looked down at the floor. "I think that could be arranged."

He smiled and went back to his ledgers. "Good."

They both looked up when they heard a knock at the door.

"Ah, lovely, you're both here," Mary smiled, nodding and coming into the room.

"My Lady," Carson nodded, rising and standing at attention. "How may we help you?"

"It's just a small thing," Mary replied, smiling at Mrs Hughes. "I understand that Granny is holding a dinner here in four days' time."

"That is correct, Milady," Mrs Hughes confirmed. "We haven't received any details on it other than we are to expect guests."

Mary frowned. "So we don't know who will actually be attending besides Granny and Lady Edith?"

"And Sir Anthony. No, my Lady, we do not," Carson answered. "I recall that Mr Spratt mentioned there could be as many as ten guests in total, but that is yet to be confirmed. We were advised to be prepared for that many."

"Ten guests," Mary repeated, frowning in thought. "I wonder who the others could be?"

"We are at just as much a loss as you are, Milady," Mrs Hughes advised.

Mary nodded. "Regardless, I am confident that you will be able to handle whatever occurs and whoever ends up showing up. My only concern is that Granny may be using this as an opportunity for His Lordship to entertain and play the good host."

"He could use the practice, Milady, to be fair," Mrs Hughes smiled.

Mary nodded. "That is true, yes, but I believe that we should ease him into it. He's never been the most social of men, and we ought to be mindful of that."

"Would the Dowager Countess not be well aware of that, my Lady?" Carson suggested.

"Yes, but she does tend to throw subtlety aside when she has a purpose in mind. The whole sink or swim idea, you realize," Mary said diplomatically. "Let's all try and make sure that His Lordship isn't put in an uncomfortable position during the evening, shall we?"

"You may rely upon us, my Lady," Carson nodded.

"Thank you, both," Mary nodded before leaving the office.

"That was rather peculiar," Mrs Hughes noted, looking over at her husband.

"Most unusual, however, Lady Mary is correct in that our loyalty is to His Lordship first and foremost. If any of the guests appear to be causing him undue discomfort, it is our obligation to extricate him from the situation," he declared.

"Mr Carson, I do not believe that Lady Mary will allow such a thing to occur," she smiled knowingly.

* * *

"My main concern is that we won't be able to fit him into one of the recognized grounds for divorce," Matthew mumbled. "I don't even know if he's guilty of adultery to begin with."

"He probably is," Mary noted, kissing her way up from his stomach to his chest. "He spends weeks at a time in London without me, and even when I'm there, he's gone most nights until late."

He frowned. "The possibility doesn't bother you?"

"Why should it? You know quite well that I don't love him," she replied. "Do you think anyone heard us?"

He smiled and kissed her lightly. "Heard you, rather?"

"Heard me call your name while I rode my big strong stud in the middle of the day?" she retorted, laughing at his shocked expression. It was entirely shocking how she was now behaving since they made love for the first time last night. Pleasuring him with her mouth this morning at the hunting lodge, and again just now here in his bed after luncheon, before he stripped her naked and taught her how to take him while she sat on top straddling his legs. At this rate, she thought they might not make it downstairs for dinner. She was already delightfully more sore and sated in one day with Matthew than she had ever been in two years of marriage to Richard. Comparing the two men seemed wrong, though, not only because she didn't want to sully what she was enjoying with Matthew, but also because the two men frankly didn't compare at all.

She felt stupidly juvenile and immature but she couldn't help it. Sex with Matthew was so different from anything she had ever done before. Not that she ever thought her previous experiences were particularly good, but she was raised to believe that sex was for the pleasure of her husband or for having children. Her night with Kemal had only reinforced the idea that exploring her own desires was wrong. Her eyes had been opened after last night.

Matthew was so patient with her. He cared about her pleasure first, wanted her to be satisfied before asking anything of her in return. He seemed to be holding back at times, reining himself in perhaps because he didn't want to overwhelm her. It made her curious as to what it would be like if he was entirely unleashed, how the full force of his passion would feel.

Her mind reeled at the possibilities. She had learned quite a bit already. He touched her in ways that she never imagined. After having him in her mouth again, he taught her how to put a French letter on him, which was startling and arousing at the same time. She had taken her own precautions already, having learned how to obtain and use caps shortly after marrying Richard, but Matthew's thoughtfulness warmed her heart.

The prospect of children saddened her. Richard wasn't eager at the moment, which suited her well enough, but she knew that would change eventually. He wanted a son one day. That was unavoidable. Matthew's heir coming from another woman would be difficult for her to accept when it happened, but she didn't want to think about that now. She was enjoying this wonderful time with him, and being able to be as open as she wanted with him was liberating.

"I chose this room for a reason," he explained, drawing her out of her fantasies. "It's isolated and far away. I never ring for anyone and no one ever ventures here."

"I ventured here," she informed him, smirking at how easy it was to throw him off-balance. "On my first night here. I put on my flimsiest negligee and went to your room to do my duty."

She sat up, her hands resting on his broad shoulders. He reached up and cupped her breasts, his fingers able to play her like a fiddle now.

"Clearly, I wasn't here," he remarked, smiling up at her. "Either that or I must have been absolute rubbish our first time to not even be able to remember it."

She laughed freely. Making jokes about sex while they sat naked together. Goodness, it was a new world, indeed.

"No. I went back to my room and saw you outside running," she noted, smiling as he sent waves of delicious heat through her with his hands.

He nodded. "I sometimes do that. It helps me sleep."

"Why didn't you send for me that night? Or any of the nights after?" she asked. "I thought that was what you wanted."

"I wasn't sure what I wanted, exactly, but I didn't want it to be like that," he admitted. "I didn't want my first time with you to be out of duty or to fulfil a debt."

She grinned and nodded. "Thank you for being so kind. I hoped, but didn't dare expect it."

He nodded slowly. The concern over what exactly she had done before with other men that Carlisle may have sent her to continued to weigh on him, but he wouldn't bring it up. He promised himself he would not judge her and he hadn't yet, though it nagged at him even now. Part of him was euphoric that she was so inexperienced and that there were still moments that could be uniquely theirs, but the fear of the unknown remained.

"Darling," she called, leaning down and kissing his neck. "I do appreciate your consideration truly, but the idea of being under your command does still intrigue me."

He swallowed, his hands moving down her sides to fondle her bottom. "Is that so?"

"Mmm hmm," she drawled. "Did you not think about it, even a little? When you won your bet, did the thought never cross your mind about what it would be like to give me orders, to have me obey?"

"I'm ashamed to confess that yes, yes it most certainly did," he stammered.

She laughed sultrily. "Perhaps we can…pretend sometime?"

His arousal stirred beneath her. "Perhaps."

She kissed him and settled down at his side once again, her fingers playing across his stomach.

"If Carlisle has committed adultery, though," he mentioned. "That would be part of the solution."

She sighed, reminding herself to choose her words carefully. "You're a darling and I love you, but I'm sorry that I can't share your optimism or confidence. Richard knows half the judges in London and most of the lawyers. Even if you were able to prove adultery, you need far more than that."

He looked at her curiously. "How would you know?"

She smirked. "You're not the only one who reads. You didn't expect me to sit around and wait to be rescued, did you? I've looked into what is required to obtain a divorce."

He smiled and kissed her softly.

"Matthew, I don't intend to dissuade you, but I shall not get my hopes up either. He won't let me go and he won't let you get close enough to try to take me away. He's my husband, and I'm his wife, and I do not wish to hurt you, but that likely will never change," she said grimly.

He sighed. "Well, you're not wrong for being pessimistic. Divorces are rare, particularly when initiated by the woman."

"They are," she nodded. "And I don't wish to raise his ire any more than necessary. To go against him can only result in even more misery."

"I just wish there was something I could do," he mumbled.

She smiled and kissed him. "There is something you can do, Matthew. You can make this month we have together the most fun, most loving, most incredible month of my life. To know that you love me and that my family home is secure, that it will prosper for future generations, that's more than I could have hoped for when Papa died. Let's just enjoy the time we have, please."

He kissed her. "All right, though I must say that I already know that one month will not be enough for me."

"I understand," she nodded. "Let's not think about that."

She settled against his chest and he kissed the top of her head, massaging her back as he stared up at the ceiling in thought.

* * *

"Today must have been a good day," Anna noted, adjusting the lace choker around Lady Mary's neck. "You've been in much better spirits from this morning."

"It was lovely, Anna," Mary nodded, admiring her reflection in the mirror. "The changes that His Lordship has made to Papa's old hunting lodge are wonderful. It makes me wish there was a Shoot soon."

"You could always come back for the grouse hunt next month, Milady," Anna suggested.

Mary looked down at her hands and pursed her lips. "I doubt it, Anna. Sir Richard doesn't particularly care for shooting. Ever since the New Year Shoot a while back, he doesn't have any interest in it. We'll likely be in London from November through to January."

Anna nodded and went to fetch her Mistress' gloves.

"Anna," Mary began. "Does Bates ever speak to you about the war he fought in with Papa?"

Anna blinked. "No, Milady. I don't tend to ask him about it, either. He doesn't really like to talk about much of his life before he came to Downton."

Mary smiled in understanding. "He likes to think that his life began when he met you, does he?"

"Milady!" Anna exclaimed, blushing as she handed over one of the long blue gloves. "He just doesn't like dwelling on the past, is all."

"I can understand that," Mary nodded knowingly. "With the former Mrs Bates having slithered away, hopefully, never to be seen or heard from again, why think about the past at all?"

"Good riddance to her," Anna nodded, sharing a smile with Mary.

"Still, I should think going into battle is not something that leaves a person so easily, sadly," Mary stated.

"I remember Thomas and William had a bit of a rough go when they got back," Anna agreed. "There were moments when they seemed so far away, and I was told that they had nightmares."

Mary nodded.

"Daisy says that she just tries to distract William when he finds himself slipping a bit," Anna advised. "Apparently, a nice homemade pie brightens him right up."

Mary smiled at the thought of the two former servants, now happily married and working on his family farm. William was fortunate to have someone to take care of him, but Matthew, his former commanding officer, was here at Downton all alone. She remembered back to the night she saw him running outside and his strange comment today that he sometimes exercised late at night to help him sleep. Was the running just to wear him out, or was there something else to it?

"There. What do you think?" Anna asked, standing back and looking at Mary's outfit in the mirror.

Mary raised her chin and looked over the gown, the scoop neck sweeping almost down to her cleavage. "It's quite a bold statement that you've chosen for me, Anna."

Anna swallowed nervously. "Yes, it is, Milady."

Mary grinned and nodded. "I love it."

Anna smiled with relief and went to gather up the rest of Mary's clothes.

Mary turned her head and arched her eyebrow, loving how the choker stood out against her pale skin. Though she would never admit it to her maid, she couldn't wait for Matthew to see her ensemble.

* * *

"Might I suggest something different for this evening, my Lord?" Bates said, bringing out a tuxedo for Matthew to wear.

"Navy, Bates?" Matthew questioned, looking over the dark blue suit. "That is a bit different."

"I think it will be a nice change for you, my Lord," Bates nodded, helping Matthew with the white shirt and silver vest. "Lady Mary seems to be wearing rather modern dresses during her stay. You should do the same."

"I don't know if I have the legs to pull off a gown, Bates," Matthew joked.

"My mistake, my Lord," Bates chuckled, holding the dinner jacket up while Matthew put on his trousers.

"Bates, I've been meaning to ask you," Matthew stated, putting his arms into the jacket. "I need someone in London to assist me with obtaining certain information, someone who can be discrete, who is also adept at using rather unconventional methods."

Bates nodded in understanding. "I might know someone, my Lord."

"Good. Make the approach and have him stand at the ready. I'll have instructions at some point this month. Make sure that you can trust him, Bates. It's a very delicate matter that I will need him for," Matthew said firmly.

"Yes, my Lord. Rest assured, for every man that Sir Richard has bought, there are a dozen more who would enjoy working against him," Bates replied.

Matthew frowned. "I don't recall ever mentioning that Sir Richard is a part of this, did I, Bates?"

Bates smiled and shook his head. "I don't recall this very conversation ever taking place, my Lord."

Matthew smiled and looked back at the mirror as Bates turned away and busied himself with gathering up the rest of His Lordship's day clothes.

* * *

"I didn't think that the difference between navy and black would be so striking, but I must say, you wear it well," Mary smiled, glancing over at Matthew's tuxedo before going back to her soup.

"A compliment from Lady Mary? I should call Carson in to act as a witness to such a rare occasion," Matthew joked.

"Ha ha," she said sarcastically, arching her eyebrow at him. "You must not have heard all the compliments I was bestowing upon you this afternoon, then."

He smirked at her innuendo. "I might have heard them better if not for all the screaming."

She blushed and looked down at her bowl. "Fine. I can ensure you have a much quieter time in the coming weeks, spent alone."

"Let's not be hasty, now," he managed. "I think I do recall this afternoon quite vividly, now that I think about it."

She smiled and took a sip of wine.

"Have you worn that before?" he asked, looking over at her gown. "I know the dress is new, but that choker."

She smiled. "It's new. Anna picked it out for me, actually. Why?"

He quirked his eyebrow. "I know what it is. It reminds me of something similar that you wore to dinner once during my first year here."

She looked at him in wonder. "I'm surprised you could have remembered that."

He looked at her knowingly. "I most certainly would not have forgotten."

She smiled as they continued with their soup.

"Have you begun organizing the Armistice Day ceremonies for next month yet?" she asked when their bowls were taken away and the next course served.

He frowned. "Not as of yet, no. I suppose we'll do something similar to what we did last year – gather at the War Memorial in the Village."

She nodded. "You ought to get moving on that. I expect it might be difficult to call everyone together, what with the soldiers now employed all over the county."

He huffed. "We have records for everyone and anyone who wants to observe the day with us will make himself available, I expect. It's not something I'm concerned with."

She watched him carefully before going back to her food.

"Why do you ask?" he enquired tightly. "You won't be here. You spend November and December in London, don't you? What we do here isn't your concern."

She frowned, a biting retort rose to her tongue but she stopped herself. Putting her fork down, she looked around the dining room to make sure they were truly alone.

"Matthew," she called, her voice soft.

He looked at her, the disquiet evident on his face.

"I don't mean to annoy you," she said earnestly. "I don't mean to remind you that I won't be with you next month. I may not have any right to do so, but I worry about you, and I will still worry about you after this month has ended. I know that any mention of the War is difficult for you, and Armistice Day must be even more so. Many soldiers have someone to rely on. You do not. I'm not saying that I can be that person for you, no matter how much I might wish it. But for now, you can talk to me if you want to. That's all."

She picked up her fork again and resumed eating her vegetables.

He watched her for a moment before he took a deep breath and put his own spoon down.

"I'm sorry, darling," he shook his head, looking across the table at some space in the distance. "You don't annoy me at all. And you're right. I don't care for any talk of the War. Truly, I wish that I could avoid Armistice Day altogether, but the men expect their Captain and Earl to be present, and of course, I should be."

She reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently as he continued to stare ahead blankly.

"That's why you exercise at night, isn't it? That's why you run?" she suggested. "You try to make yourself so tired that you won't have nightmares."

He nodded slowly. "I never know when they might come, but usually I'll start feeling anxious during the day. It's difficult to describe, but there's just a sense of foreboding, a sensation that I must ready myself for combat somehow. It was like that in the trenches. One second you might be cleaning your rifle or playing cards with the lads, and the next the horns sound and you're scrambling to take cover or get the hell out of there."

She pursed her lips, cringing at the pain she saw on his face.

"I don't fear for myself when I have these flashes," he whispered. "It's the people around me. The people who might have to witness me acting strangely or fighting ghosts that they can't see. That's why I take out all of my aggression in the gymnasium, and run until I might collapse. It's why I keep my room far away from everyone else. If I face my nightmares alone, it means I won't put anyone else in danger."

His eyes focused and he looked at her, colour slowly returning to his face. He squeezed her hand and smiled in reassurance before reaching for his wine glass.

"What is this about a dinner that Violet is hosting next week?" he asked. "Carson mentioned it earlier."

She nodded, quietly agreeing to put all talk of the War to the side for now. "Edith told me the other night. There will be guests but no one seems to know who they are. Has Granny done this before?"

"She and Cora will often have charity functions and what not here," he shrugged. "I generally only make a token appearance before escaping to the study. More is expected of me when some of the neighbours are invited, but it doesn't seem as though this is one of those dinners."

"No, it doesn't," she shook her head. "It makes me wary of who she might have show up."

"I'm sure that whoever it is, they can't be particularly noteworthy. She's always trying to get me to entertain more. It's nothing new," he shrugged.

"Yes, darling, but this is different. She's well aware of how I came to be here for the month, and she may be trying to interfere so that we don't get too carried away," she warned.

He smiled and reached over for her hand. He kissed her fingers lightly before releasing them. "Well, she's a bit late for that."

She smiled and nodded. "She is, but that won't stop her from trying."

"I can't see how she would be so bothered," he shook his head. "Violet has always been on our side."

She looked down at her bowl. "She was on our side, darling. You forget that Granny is a creature of tradition. Now that what's done is done, she believes that we should get on with our lives rather than pursue the impossible."

He smirked. "It seems the impossible has happened just the same."

She blushed. "So it has."

He chuckled and smiled at her confidently. "Well, whoever shows up, we'll entertain them and see them off as quickly as possible. Sir Anthony will want to get back to Loxley early, I imagine, and your Granny won't last too long either. And I have plans for you that evening, Lady Mary, just as I do every night for the rest of your stay."

"Here's hoping we can get rid of them promptly, then," she teased, glad to see him back to himself and flirting with her. She was still worried about the upcoming dinner party. Granny never did anything without a goal in mind. Still, she trusted that she and Matthew could face it together and get through it, and as long as Granny wasn't suspicious of anything going on between them, they could continue on unhindered.

* * *

"If he has committed adultery, who would it have been with?" Matthew asked, passing Mary her glass of sherry.

"No one of any importance, I expect," she shrugged, taking a sip. "One of his secretaries. A prostitute, maybe. Some singer or dancer that he met in one of those horrid nightclubs. Someone who doesn't have the wherewithal or power to hurt him once he grows bored of them."

He shook his head and stared into his glass of brandy. "How despicable."

"He has the law and Society on his side," she remarked. "Only the Church would deem anything he does wrong. It's the same with you. If we were found out, I'd be the fallen woman while you would be thought of as the handsome devil that I couldn't resist."

He frowned and looked into the fire. "It's just so unfair."

"Yes, but it is what it is, my darling," she shrugged. "I don't like it, but I've come to accept it. I have a position, a life. I'm the envy of Society. There are worse things that could have befallen me."

He sighed despondently. Putting his glass down on the coffee table, he turned and took her hand in his.

"I'm so very sorry, Mary," he said softly. "I failed you. You needed me and I wasn't there for you."

Her face fell and she set her sherry down before covering his hands with hers. "You did no such thing. You were hurting and suffering and had more than enough problems to deal with without having to worry about me. I chose him. I chose him to save myself and make the best of a horrible situation. Do not ever blame yourself. It's my fault more than yours, just as I told you before."

"But we're not together now all because I couldn't…" he struggled.

"Shh," she stopped him. "We are together, Matthew. Right now, we are together, and I will never forget these days for as long as I live."

He pulled her close and hugged her tight. She closed her eyes and savoured being in his arms, the quiet of the sitting room a comfort to her. It was just the two of them, exactly the way she liked it. She couldn't give him all that he deserved, no matter how desperately she wanted to, but being able to touch him and kiss him and tell him that she loved him was already leaps and bounds ahead of where they were before, or what she ever thought possible.

"It's getting late," he muttered when he finally drew back and released her. "You should retire."

"What about you?" she frowned.

He shook his head and smiled at her. "Today has been the best day of my life. I'm just going to go to the gymnasium and head to bed. You've quite worn me out."

She blinked, his words seeming overly cheerful. "Are you sure? You'll be all right?"

He smiled bravely and stood up, extending his hand to her. "I'll be fine. I just need to clear my head a little bit."

She took his hand and rose, watching him carefully as he escorted her out to the Great Hall and up the stairs. When they reached their floor, he took her in his arms and kissed her soundly, the yearning clear in his touch.

"Good night, my darling," he smiled. "I certainly hope that I dream about you later."

She nodded and wished him good night. He turned and headed back downstairs. She watched him, a worried frown on her face. When he disappeared from sight, she headed off to her bedroom, her mind swirling as she rang for Anna to prepare for bed.

* * *

Matthew leaned against the glass wall of the shower, the water pouring down on him. His eyes were closed, his forehead touching the glass. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing pulse.

No matter what he did, he still felt agitated and anxious. Weightlifting and running had not helped. Even working over the heavy punchbag for a while hadn't quelled his energy.

For someone so used to rational thought and reasoned decision-making, making sense of the War was an impossible task. He tried to forget about it when he could, even though it seemed to come up occasionally during sessions in the House of Lords, or be mentioned in the newspapers. He hated reading about it. He hated talking about it. He hated that it happened at all. He hated that men under his command died or came back with missing limbs or other injuries. He hated all that he had lost during those dreadful years.

Crying happened less and less now. Whether that was because he was out of tears or just numb to the pain, he didn't know. Instead, he seethed and raged, balled up his fury and unleashed it into exercise, and shouting. A lot of shouting.

Tonight his usual routine had not worked. His mind was still buzzing, his blood still hot. Sleep was still hours away yet, even as the water soothed him a little. He felt as though he was wound up tightly in anticipation of some coming challenge. It was as if he was back in the trenches, every nerve and muscle ready to fire.

His eyes shot open. His ears prickled. Something was out of place amidst the rushing water and steam of the shower. Frowning, he turned towards the glass door and raised his fist.

Only for a soft hand to reach out and grasp it.

"Mary," he whispered, his eyes widening as she appeared before him.

"It's all right," she nodded, turning him around fully to face her. She placed her hands on his chest, the water wetting her hair and running down over her naked body. "I'm here."

"You should go," he warned. "I'm feeling…I can't…"

"It's all right," she nodded, her voice warm. "I'm right where I want to be."

He breathed heavily as she came to him and reached up to caress his cheek. She kissed him softly, the water washing over them both. Once she was sufficiently soaked, she eased him back against the wall and pressed her body against him.

"You don't have to keep it inside," she assured him, reaching down and stroking him slowly. "Whatever you're feeling, whatever you need, I want to help you."

"Mary, I can't be gentle," he rasped, the feel of her soft body firing his lust.

"Don't be," she whispered, kissing him again. "Be rough. Take me. Fuck me. Do anything you want to me. I want you to."

"Mary," he grunted, his hands shaking as he squeezed her bottom and pulled her tight to him.

"Make me scream for you," she hissed, pressing a warm kiss to his neck.

He growled angrily. She yelped as he picked her up and spun her around. Her back hit the glass wall and her legs wound around his hips, her arms clinging to his back as he seized her mouth in a frantic kiss. She gave as good as she got, her arousal flying at how dominant he was. This was a side of him that she had never seen before, a side no woman had ever seen, she told herself. Only she could bring this out of him. This was hers and hers alone. Hers to enjoy.

"Matthew!" she gasped. Her head fell back against the glass as he ravished her neck, her shoulder and moved down to claim her breasts. She felt his teeth, his every touch one of hunger and need. She wondered if he would leave marks on her body and her eyes opened wide and lost focus, her body shaking in his hold at the thought of him branding her like a beast claims his mate.

It all happened so fast, so desperately. One moment she was held helpless against the glass, the next her feet were back on the tiled floor and the next he picked her up again, but this time he managed to put her legs on his shoulders. Her arms flailed for a second before she was able to reach up and grab the top of the glass wall, hanging on with all of her strength as he raised her hips and attacked her with his mouth.

The very sight of what he was doing almost sent her over, and a few hard stabs of his tongue did the rest. She shouted, her voice echoing off the walls as she spent. He didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't slow down. He gave her no mercy as his lips and tongue built her up again. She was moaning constantly now, her mouth hanging open, her eyes staring down at him. She bucked and thrashed, would surely have fallen down if not for her grip on the top of the shower. Her precarious position only added to her delirium. She couldn't stop him even if she wanted to, she couldn't get away from him if she tried. She was his to use until he was finished with her, and yet, seeing him pleasuring her when he could have been far more selfish only made her love him more.

"Matthew! Matthew! Oh, God, yes!" she cried, her eyes shutting tight as she went over a second time. She let go of the shower and fell into his arms, sliding deliciously down the wall until her feet hit the floor once again. She was swooning, but he kept her upright, pinning her to the glass as he kissed her hard. She played with his tongue, tasting herself yet again. Before last night she had never done such a thing, but now it felt so wickedly theirs, something only they knew together.

She gasped and her eyes opened again when he turned her around to face the glass wall. Her heartbeat leapt into another gear as she braced her hands and he pulled her back by her hips. His fingers snaked up her wet back and took a firm hold of her hair. She groaned loudly when he tugged her head back, bending her body and forcing her arse up.

"You're mine," he snarled.

She screamed as he thrust into her from behind, burying himself fully after several deep plunges. His hand in her hair and on her hip kept her in place, aligning her perfectly for his every powerful blow. This felt indescribable, the slight pain only adding to her molten ecstasy. He moved over her, his hand reaching up to grab her breast while his lips captured her neck and shoulder. His breath was hot on her skin, and the water and steam all around them made the moment almost seem otherworldly.

"Mine," he repeated, a harsh grunt between his heated breaths. She could barely understand the words, every fibre of her being trying to keep her upright and gulping in air. All conscious thought seemed to be obliterated in the cauldron of their passion, leaving only the two of them in this small space where nothing could touch them or ruin their moment.

"Yours," she groaned, pushing back against him to take him even deeper. "Yours. Yours. Yours."

He moved even faster and leaned back, taking hold of her hips again to give himself as much leverage as possible. She moaned uncontrollably, all words lost, all thought gone save for the need to reach the finish with him.

She threw her head back and yelled one last time as she drowned in bliss. He answered with a shout of her name before pulling her hard to him and pouring into her, holding her tight until he was done shaking.

She breathed raggedly, her entire body feeling boneless and weak. He wrapped his arms around her and held her, her head resting back against his shoulder. They stood there motionless for several moments. He somehow found the strength to turn off the shower, the water having begun to cool. The steam floated all around them, the only sound their harsh breathing.

"Are you all right?" he asked, swallowing to try and find his voice.

She turned her head and kissed his jaw. "Yes. I loved every second of it."

"Thank you so much," he gasped, kissing her temple.

"Do you think you'll sleep well now?" she asked teasingly.

He laughed and slowly stepped away from her. Turning her around to face him, he hugged her again. "I don't think I'll have any nightmares for quite a while now."

"Good," she smiled, hugging him back. "I want to give you so many happy memories that you won't ever think about any of that business ever again."

He nodded. They both knew it was a naïve idea, but they didn't care.

"I suppose you'll have to go back to your room now, won't you?" he noted regretfully.

"Eventually," she smiled. "I'm rather in no condition to leave now. I'll have to rest up to regain my strength."

He grinned. "Good. Let me help you."

She laughed as he picked her up and carried her out of the shower. Setting her down on a chair, he fetched towels and dried both of them thoroughly before he scooped her up again and carried her to bed.

"You're ridiculous," she smiled, snuggling against him under the blankets. "I do need to go back. I can't be found here in the morning."

"Understood," he nodded, closing his eyes and holding her close. "Just a little while longer."

"Remember, now," she mumbled, closing her eyes and laying her hand across his stomach. "It is so very nice to be able to be in your bed, but we must take care."

"As nice as nice can be," he smiled, opening his eyes and looking down at her. "Don't worry, darling. I'll always take care of you."


	6. Chapter 6

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Y** **orkshire, England, October 1921**

"I suppose you'll have to go back to your room now, won't you?" he noted regretfully.

"Eventually," she smiled. "I'm rather in no condition to leave now. I'll have to rest up to regain my strength."

He grinned. "Good. Let me help you."

She laughed as he picked her up and carried her out of the shower. Setting her down on a chair, he fetched towels and dried both of them thoroughly before he scooped her up again and carried her to bed.

"You're ridiculous," she smiled, snuggling against him under the blankets. "I do need to go back. I can't be found here in the morning."

"Understood," he nodded, closing his eyes and holding her close. "Just a little while longer."

"Remember, now," she mumbled, closing her eyes and laying her hand across his stomach. "It is so very nice to be able to be in your bed, but we must take care."

"As nice as nice can be," he smiled, opening his eyes and looking down at her. "Don't worry, darling. I'll always take care of you."

 **Chapter 6:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew?"

Matthew frowned and looked over at Mary. She was watching him curiously, her eyebrow arched in question.

"Well?" she asked.

"I'm thinking," he replied, looking back up at the ceiling.

"This should not be so difficult a question to answer, unless of course, you're stalling to invent something," she commented while making herself more comfortable. She adjusted her pillow before resuming her cold stare.

"I already told you that I was affected by you from our very first meeting at Crawley House," he offered.

"Yes, where you were quite rude," she nodded. "Go on."

He huffed and gave her a wry look. "Well, I can't say that I was overly pleased with you for the first few months, beginning with that ridiculous reception you gave me at dinner."

She smirked. "I was merely testing you, darling. An earl can't be easily teased. It was important to gauge your ability to handle a proper debate."

"A proper debate?" he questioned. "Calling me a sea monster is your idea of a proper debate?"

"I thought I was rather clever to come up with that one," she smiled in recollection. "And it isn't as though my behaviour dissuaded you."

"No, no it didn't. It merely annoyed me," he said pointedly.

"Getting back to my original question," she prompted him. "When did you first have impure thoughts about me?"

He frowned. "I suspect that there is no right answer. If I say a moment that was early on, you'll think me a rabid schoolboy. If I say a moment that was later, you'll consider it an insult."

"Oh no, you aren't lawyering your way out of this one," she remarked. "Tell me."

He sighed. "There was a moment early on during my first winter here. Mother and I were over for dinner and when we went through, you retired early, claiming a headache."

Her eyes narrowed in thought. "I don't recall that night in particular, but it certainly sounds like a strategy I would have employed to get away from spending time with you."

"Yes, well, I had some reading to do for work, so I left shortly after. Mother stayed behind to talk to Cousin Violet and I walked back to Crawley House. When I came outside, I happened to look up and noticed the light was on in your bedroom."

She blinked. "Yes? And?"

He looked at her ruefully. "You were changing for bed, apparently."

Her eyes widened. "You saw me?"

He shook his head. "Anna had drawn the curtains enough that I couldn't make you out entirely. I saw your silhouette, for the most part. You were facing to the side so I had a view of your profile as you undressed."

She smiled slowly. "You saw me take my clothes off."

"Your shadow took her clothes off, yes," he nodded.

She grinned now. "And what? The vision stayed with you, did it?"

He grunted. "I may have thought about you in an improper fashion after that."

She laughed and snuggled closer to him. "Matthew Crawley, you scoundrel. Spying on a Lady _en déshabillé_? Goodness."

"It was inadvertent," he complained. "I just happened to be looking up."

"And you just happened to keep looking for a good few minutes, did you?" she accused. "My, my, is that why I would sometimes catch you staring at me rather strangely?"

"I did not stare at you, strangely, or otherwise," he whinged.

"Picturing me naked, were you?" she teased. "Well, I do hope you aren't disappointed. Nine years is quite a while to wait to see the genuine article."

He reached over and touched her cheek before kissing her softly. "My darling, the real thing is far better than anything I ever imagined."

"Flatterer," she laughed, kissing him back.

"I am a scoundrel, though," he shrugged. "I dreamed about you when I was at War, even while I was engaged to Lavinia."

She nodded somberly. "You mustn't blame yourself for that. It's hardly something you could have controlled."

"I wonder. Anyway, that's all in the past," he smiled bravely, reaching over and kissing her hand. "I'm quite enjoying the present."

"As am I, but our immediate future may prove difficult. We must be careful at dinner tomorrow. Granny will be watching us like a hawk. I don't think that we should sit together. It will draw her suspicion," she warned.

"I think you're being overly cautious," he noted. "It's just a dinner, darling. Everyone knows you're staying here as my guest and we are still cousins. It's perfectly reasonable that we would sit together. If I sat with Edith, no one would think it strange."

"It's Granny we're talking about," she retorted. "There is no such thing as just a dinner to her. And to be clear, our history is rather more involved than that of yours with Edith, thank you. Obviously, people would react differently to seeing us sitting together than they would to seeing you with her."

"Are we speaking of our past history, or more recent history?" he retorted, looking at her pointedly.

"Behave," she scolded him, though she smiled when he kissed her fingers again.

"Fine. So I'll talk to whoever is sitting next to me and you'll do the same, and that should be sufficient to throw Cousin Violet off the scent," he suggested.

"You mustn't test her," she continued. "Until all the guests have gone, act as if we are merely acquaintances and nothing more."

"Come now, we can still talk to each other during the evening, surely?" he scoffed.

"We can talk, yes. But you can't leer at me as you do, though," she countered.

"I do not leer at you!" he protested.

She arched her eyebrow and looked at him knowingly.

"All right, I do not leer at you in front of other people," he corrected himself. "You make me sound insatiable."

She smiled. "Aren't you? My red negligee is a lost cause. I can't possibly ask Anna to mend it. It's ripped clean down the front!"

He smirked, recalling the thrill of tearing the lace slip from her body. "Leave it here. I'll keep it as a souvenir."

"Wanting another trophy, are you?" she huffed, slapping him lightly on the chest. "You'll be demanding my knickers next."

"Don't give me any ideas," he smiled.

"You've got more than plenty already, I expect," she shot back.

"All inspired by you, my darling," he said smoothly, pulling her on top of him and drawing her down for a kiss. "I've never wanted it like this."

She kissed him soundly, humming against his lips when his hands reached down and cupped her bottom. "High praise. I'm better than those unsuspecting girls you seduced at school, am I?"

He frowned up at her smiling face. "I did not seduce anyone at school. My only previous experience was a rather awkward and embarrassing incident when I was a teenager. It was entirely forgettable, for her as it was for me."

She arched her eyebrow suspiciously. "I don't believe you. Marie Stopes did not teach you that glorious thing you did with your fingers last night."

He chuckled. "I read about that in the _Kama Sutra_. Also, when you are in the Army, inevitably you hear all manner of bawdy tales and supposed tricks to send a woman to Heaven. Most of it is entirely made up, but I filed away some of the more believable tips that didn't appear to be completely fabricated. As for _Married Love_ , it proved quite educational. It would be just my luck that you would find that book sitting out on my nightstand."

She smiled. "I'm quite glad that I found it. I also found the fact that you had it quite exciting, rather."

He grinned and kissed her again. "I'm embarrassed to admit that I bought it entirely with you in mind."

She closed her eyes and moaned as he kissed a trail down her neck.

"I read it and became quite beside myself thinking of you as my eager and willing woman," he whispered between kisses.

"Mmm, you learned your lessons well," she drawled. "You have me entirely in your thrall now. I still cannot begin to fathom how I allowed you to tie me up the other night."

"What about when I made you watch us in the mirror?" he asked, running his tongue along her pulse point.

She sighed in response, her heartbeat jumping at the memories of all the things they had done in the past five days since they made love for the first time. They spent each night together, either in his bed or hers, but that wasn't nearly enough for them. All it took was a glance across the table during luncheon or a casual touch when they were out for a walk and they would be racing for the nearest place they could find that would afford them the privacy they needed to be together. Even a bed was no longer necessary. He had her against the wall in the stables. She made him pleasure her in the shower of her bathroom. They even snuck back into Crawley House and cleansed the memory of their first meeting in the parlour with a much more pleasant one.

"What about when I took you against the window, while you were looking out across the grounds?" he pressed, fondling her bottom with one hand and her breast with the other.

She whimpered and writhed under his knowing touch. It was as if finally being able to give herself to a man freely and willingly had unlocked something within her. This wasn't a scared young girl being manipulated by a devious predator. This wasn't a resigned wife doing her duty. This was a woman in love, fearless and uninhibited, exploring every urge and desire without reservation. The fact that Matthew was just as enthusiastic as she was only emboldened her more.

"I loved all of it," she gasped. "I love what you do to me."

"Soon, we'll be able to do this all the time, my darling, with no need to sneak around," he promised. "When you're back here permanently where you belong, with me."

She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling, cradling his head against her as he stoked her arousal. It was wrong to allow him to continue to hold his grand ideas of her divorcing Richard and marrying him, but when she was in his arms she couldn't help but give in to the impossible fantasy herself.

"Tomorrow night, after dinner is done with, after everyone has been sent away, I want to make love to you in the dining room," he growled.

A dark thrill raced up her spine. The house was more or less empty at night. Carson and Mrs Hughes went back to their cottage, as did Anna and Bates. The house would have to be on fire for Mrs Patmore to wake up, and the other maids and footmen would be worn out from dealing with the dinner.

All the same, the idea of her riding him while he sat in his chair, or bending over the dinner table while he took her from behind, all while they might be caught out was irresistible to her. She was convinced that Granny was using the dinner as a ploy or scheme of some kind. To rebel and affirm their forbidden love in the same room where they would be forced to put on a charade for some unknown guests was all too perfect.

"Please, Mary," he whispered. "Please say that you'll allow it."

"Oh God, Matthew! Yes!" she cried. "You can have me anywhere you want!"

"Just to prove that no one controls us. No one rules our lives except for us," he stated, pulling her back down for a fierce kiss.

She groaned and moved her hips against him, teasing him over and over.

He grunted and took a deep breath as she paused long enough to reach over to the nightstand for another French letter. Opening the wrapper and taking the condom out, she smirked at him wickedly before kneeling beside him and taking hold of his hard length.

"Mary," he called as she licked him slowly, teasing him with her mouth before pulling the sheath down over him.

"Just the two of us," she nodded, straddling him again and easing herself down on him.

He reached up and massaged her hips. "Just the two of us."

They both moaned in pleasure and soon found a common rhythm, both of them understanding each other's bodies and desires so well now. As they moved together towards bliss, they forgot all about tomorrow's dinner for the moment. It was still another day away, and they had the rest of this afternoon and evening to enjoy each other.

* * *

"Lady Grantham and Lady Rosamund have arrived," Anna advised, coming into Mary's bedroom and closing the door behind her.

Mary frowned and looked back at the full-length mirror. "All right. I suspected that Aunt Rosamund would be one of the guests. That makes four including Edith and Sir Anthony. Lord Grantham and I bring it to six. Now who are the other four?"

"You don't think that she would have called Sir Richard back somehow?" Anna asked, cringing at the thought.

Mary's eyes widened before she shook her head. "No. Granny wouldn't do such a thing. She detests him. Besides, Richard knows that I'm here. He wouldn't leave his business in India to come back just for dinner."

Anna nodded in relief and went over to the bed to prepare her Mistress' evening gown.

"There's going to be some heiress from London to be pushed at His Lordship, that's for certain," Mary grumbled. "Granny and Mama both want him to choose his wife and get on with doing his duty to produce an heir."

"He does need to get on with things, though, doesn't he?" Anna asked, coming over to help her Mistress into her gold dress with the thin straps and the sharp neckline.

"Of course, he does," Mary nodded, feigning disinterest. "But throwing women at him is hardly the proper way to go about it. We all have a vested interest in who he eventually chooses. She'll be Countess of Grantham and I should hope that a decision is not made hastily over some contrived dinner put on by Granny."

"Maybe it's just to wake him up a bit, Milady," Anna suggested, adjusting the silver tiara in Mary's hair. "Get him back in the habit of socializing and entertaining."

"I suppose," Mary said tightly. "All the same, I'd like to know who I'll have to deal with tonight, if only for my own peace of mind."

Anna nodded and went to get the matching beaded necklaces and gloves to go with Mary's dress.

They both turned when they heard a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Mary called.

"It's me," Edith replied in annoyance. "Open the door."

Anna went over and let her in, bowing her head as Edith greeted her and went over to Mary.

"I see that Granny and Aunt Rosamund are here," Edith noted, giving her sister a light hug.

"Did you find out who else is coming?" Mary asked.

"I hadn't spoken to Granny at all lately until just now," Edith replied, sitting down on the bed. "Anthony and I returned from London yesterday. Your guess is as good as mine."

"All of this secrecy is ridiculous," Mary complained, going back to examine her look in the mirror. "Matthew's quite busy with estate matters and work. He doesn't have time for some mystery ball."

Edith smirked. "You're not usually so ornery before dinner. I would have thought you would be looking forward to tonight. It must be terribly boring with just you and Matthew in the house by yourselves."

Mary frowned at her sister. "Hardly. I've been familiarizing myself with all the renovations and his plans for the future. He's gone to quite the effort."

"He has, but it's still nowhere near as modern as Haxby," Edith pointed out.

"It doesn't have to be. They're different houses, each with their different qualities," Mary replied. She held out her arm for Anna to slide one of the long gloves on.

"Well, whatever Granny is up to, it must be of some importance. Aunt Rosamund doesn't normally come up for just any dinner," Edith remarked.

"The guests must have some level of prestige," Mary agreed. "Which makes me all the more curious. Thank you, Anna. That will be all."

Anna curtsied to both ladies before she left, closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Why are you really so bothered about tonight?" Edith asked suspiciously. "What does it matter to you who shows up?"

"I'm not bothered," Mary retorted. "I merely would like to know who I will be dining with. I don't think it's too much to ask."

"So if you learned the names of whichever pretty young things were coming to dinner to impress Matthew, you would be satisfied and not bothered at all?" Edith pressed.

"I'm a married woman, Edith," Mary frowned. "I don't care who comes to dinner, I would just like to know in advance, is all. To be fair, Matthew has had a rough go of things for the past while, what with the death of Lavinia and losing Papa after that. I'm not so sure he's ready to look for a wife, and I should hate to see him made a pawn in some game of Granny's, that's all."

"Mary, we are all pawns to some degree," Edith noted. "Matthew is going to be subjected to many nights like this one until he finds his Countess. It's hardly surprising, and shouldn't be to him."

"Well, whoever is invited tonight, I hope they don't embarrass themselves. Matthew doesn't respond well to women who appear needy and desperate," Mary sniffed.

"If anyone would know, it would be you," Edith smirked.

Mary glared at her.

"So that's how you've been spending your days? Looking over repairs and renovations and touring the grounds?" Edith asked mischievously.

"That's not all we've been up to, but mainly, yes," Mary replied. "I'm pleased that we can be friends."

"Friends," Edith repeated.

"Yes, friends," Mary rolled her eyes. "Our past is exactly that. We're neighbours now and family still, and there's no reason why we shouldn't get along."

"I'd say there's a very good reason," Edith shook her head. "Can you honestly say that Sir Richard will allow you to come visit whenever you like? When he returns, we won't see you again until the New Year, I expect."

Mary looked down at her necklaces. "Even so, this has been a lovely stay thus far, and I hope that nothing happens this evening to spoil it."

"I can't see how anything of note would happen tonight unless Matthew becomes smitten with one of the guests, and what are the chances, really?" Edith suggested.

"Unlikely, but then anything seems possible these days," Mary muttered.

Edith looked at her curiously.

"I've been meaning to ask you," Mary continued. "There was no word in London about my staying here, was there? I imagine no one knows."

"I didn't hear anything," Edith shook her head. "There was talk already about your Winter Season party though. Apparently, Richard is already boasting about it being the grandest of the grand."

Mary rolled her eyes. "I'm not surprised. It's easy for him to make such predictions when he's not the one that has to plan it. Come, let's go down. I imagine that your husband will require rescuing shortly."

Edith smiled and rose from the bed. She checked her reflection quickly before following her sister out to the hall and over to the stairs.

* * *

Matthew wandered into the parlour and accepted his brandy from one of the footmen. The world had changed so much since he first arrived at Downton. He was an overwhelmed neophyte back then, thrust into this new life with a family he didn't even know. Since those early days, he learned what it took to be an earl, fell in love, had his heart broken, went to War, came back injured, miraculously recovered and had his heart broken again several times over. Despite so much of what Downton represented fading away lately along with other relics of the past, there were still times when its majesty shone brightly as ever.

The parlour was lit by the twin chandeliers above. Violet sat near the centre on a comfortable chair, holding court for everyone else to come forward to pay tribute. The footmen circulated about carrying drinks on silver trays, all while Carson stood by the door overseeing the operation with watchful eyes. Everyone was dressed in elegant finery, and he knew that the dining table was set with the best china and silverware, golden candelabras and colourful floral arrangements. It was decidedly different from his more intimate dinners with Mary as of late, or those many nights when he ate by himself. All these years later, despite all the change in the world, a proper dinner at Downton was still an event.

"Cousin Violet," he nodded, coming to her side. "We seem to be short of guests."

Violet smiled and looked over at Rosamund speaking with Anthony. "Have no fear, my dear boy. The places will all be full by the time the bell sounds, I assure you."

He nodded. "And who are we expecting, may I ask?"

She looked at him smugly. "Most esteemed company."

"So no boring neighbours tonight, then," he smirked.

"Certainly not," she replied mysteriously. "Tonight shall be the complete opposite of boring."

Before he could question her further, he looked up at the sound of high heeled shoes striking the hardwood floor in the Great Hall and drawing nearer.

"Ah, Mary has come down at last," Violet noted.

Mary and Edith came into the parlour and made their way over. Though Matthew kept his eyes politely on Edith, he managed to glance at Mary long enough to take in her dress. The gold silk seemed to glisten as she moved, her necklaces and tiara gleaming as they caught the light. The thin straps showed off her bare shoulders, and the neckline, while not nearly as daring as some of the other gowns she wore during her stay, was still modern, sweeping down across her chest. She did not have to go to any extra effort to stand out as far as he was concerned, but he smiled at how she clearly wanted to shine in comparison to whoever showed up tonight. Since she moved to Haxby, on the rare times he saw her she appeared docile and prim, the perfect hostess but not nearly as vibrant as he knew her to be. Since arriving here, the fiery Mary had returned, and he was glad for it.

Mary and Edith each greeted Aunt Rosamund and Granny in turn. Edith traded cheek kisses with Matthew while Mary merely nodded to Sir Anthony and kept her distance from her cousin. Sharing a brief look as they passed each other, Matthew then went to join Edith, Sir Anthony and Aunt Rosamund while Mary stayed with Granny.

"You look lovely, my dear," Violet smiled at her eldest granddaughter. "Your stay here seems to agree with you."

"Matthew has been a generous host," Mary nodded, matching her Granny's firm stare. "I see that your mystery guests have yet to arrive."

"I expect them shortly," Violet nodded. "What have you and Matthew gotten up to all alone in this big house?"

Mary's smile didn't waver. "Oh, you know Matthew, Granny. He's at the office during the day. I barely see him except at dinner in the evenings. I've been enjoying being at Downton again, walking the grounds and exploring the house on my own. It's been wonderfully relaxing."

Violet watched her carefully. "Your enthusiasm is palpable, my dear."

"I feel like a new woman," Mary nodded, arching her eyebrow. "Being here has been a lovely escape."

"So it would seem. However, you know what they say about all good things, hmm?" Violet mentioned.

Mary smiled. "Yes, of course. They come to those who wait."

The two women locked eyes for a moment until they were both drawn to look up when Carson raised his baritone so all could hear.

"Lord Allan Lindsay," the butler announced, standing aside as a stocky man with greying hair entered the room brandishing an elegant black cane. The stranger made his way over to where Violet was sitting and was joined there by Aunt Rosamund.

"Lady Grantham," Lord Lindsay nodded. "Good evening to you and your family."

Violet nodded in acknowledgment.

"Lord Lindsay, this is my niece, Lady Mary Carlisle," Rosamund smiled, introducing the man to Mary.

Mary smiled politely, intrigued as to the interaction between her aunt and this new man.

"Come and meet the others," Rosamund smiled, lightly steering Lord Lindsay towards Sir Anthony, Edith and Matthew.

"He's new," Mary noted, watching them go.

"He was an old friend of your late uncle," Violet informed her. "Unlike Marmaduke however, he already has a title and an estate of his own."

"A rare combination these days. No wonder Aunt Rosamund seems so pleased to spend time with him," Mary smirked.

"After her wasted spell with that detestable Lord Hepworth, she should be pleased to spend time with anyone able to support himself," Violet scoffed. "Still, she does seem happy."

"Would that every woman be similarly pleased when in the presence of her beloved," Mary noted pointedly.

Violet frowned at her and shook her head.

"Lady Anne Acland," Carson called.

Mary's head turned towards the door and her eyes widened as a thin woman with dark brown hair, standing slightly shorter than her, came into the parlour. She wore a silver sleeveless dress with black necklaces and a more modern headband across her forehead. Anne came over to greet Violet first, causing Mary to regain her composure and smile demurely.

"Mary, you know Lady Anne Acland, do you not?" Violet asked.

"We shared a governess in another life, I seem to recall," Anne smiled.

"Indeed, we did," Mary nodded. "Welcome, Anne. I was not aware you were in Yorkshire. Surely you didn't come up from London just for this?"

"I have an uncle near Durham," Anne replied. "I've been staying with him for the week, but it is nice to have an evening out."

"How wonderful," Mary smiled. "Do you know…"

"Anne. Hello," Matthew interjected, greeting Anne with a smile and a nod.

"Lord Grantham, Matthew," Anne smiled in reply. "Thank you for having me over to your lovely home. I was most delighted to receive your invitation."

Matthew looked over at Violet curiously before smiling at Anne. "We are delighted you could join us. I see you've met my Cousin Mary."

"Mary and I already knew each other, actually," Anne replied, smiling at Mary.

"From many years ago when we were children," Mary added.

"What a coincidence," Matthew nodded, looking at Mary cautiously before turning back to Anne. "Well, come and meet my Cousin Edith and her husband then."

Anne nodded to Violet and Mary and went with Matthew to the other group.

"I suppose it isn't a coincidence that Anne just happened to be available for your dinner," Mary frowned at her Granny. "She's a war widow, isn't she?"

"She is. Horrible business, that," Violet shook her head sympathetically. "There were no children from the marriage, and she's slowly coming out of mourning, very much like our Matthew."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That's your scheme? To invite Anne Acland to dinner and hope that Matthew will take pity on her?"

"I do not believe she needs his pity. They got along quite well at the Garden Party in the summer. I thought it appropriate that they renew acquaintances, is all," Violet noted.

Mary frowned. "I was not aware that Matthew knew her."

"He didn't mention it to you? Hmm, well, you didn't attend in the summer, and I suppose he's treading lightly. After all, it is early days between them. He's likely being careful not to define exactly what they are to each other just yet," Violet smirked.

"And you believe that Anne would pass muster as Countess of Grantham?" Mary questioned.

"Clearly, you do not," Violet retorted.

"I had never considered the possibility," Mary replied. "What do we know of her truly? She does not come from nobility, and that still counts for something these days. Even still, how do we know she'll fill the position suitably?"

"I believe that Matthew will ultimately decide whether she is suitable or not. I am only encouraging him to make that decision, whatever it ultimately is," Violet stated.

"And what if he decides that she isn't worthy?" Mary asked pointedly. "Or, more likely, what if he refuses to play your little game and won't be pressured into taking a wife before he's ready?"

"Matthew must learn that life goes on, whether that be with Anne or someone else, it inevitably must," Violet nodded. "It is important that he understands that he must let go of any childish ideas that he may still be harbouring, and go forward as an adult, as an earl."

Mary scoffed quietly and lowered her voice, leaning towards her Granny as if she was going to share some private joke. "If you think for one moment that brining in Anne Acland will cause me any grief, you are quite mistaken, dear Granny. I know my place, but rest assured that I will always care for Matthew, and will always be invested in his well-being. If he finds happiness with Anne, so be it. But if you believe that I shall take her presence here as some form of rebuke, it most certainly is not. We both know that Anne is not me, and Matthew won't see her as a replacement either."

Violet smiled and nodded. "You know your heart, Mary. I only ask that you think with your head."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Mary frowned. "I'm profoundly aware of my situation."

"I trust that you are, however, I've arranged for a reminder all the same," Violet said. "I want to be certain that you are in your right mind, regardless of what your heart may be telling you."

Mary frowned in confusion.

"The Dowager Lady Shackleton and Mr Henry Talbot," Carson announced crisply.

Mary's blood seemed to turn cold. She looked up and blanched as a tall man with striking green eyes, short brown hair and a brilliant smile escorted an older woman into the parlour. While Lady Shackleton stepped forward and took Violet's hands, Henry stayed back and kept his eyes on Mary, who swallowed and looked away.

"Prudence," Violet nodded in greeting. "So good of you to come."

"Of course!" Lady Shackleton beamed. "And you know my nephew, Henry, surely?"

"Yes, yes, of course, from all of those exciting races," Violet nodded. "Good evening, young man."

Henry turned away from Mary long enough to greet the Dowager Countess. "Lady Grantham."

"You both know my granddaughter, Lady Mary Carlisle," Violet smiled, nodding towards Mary.

"Certainly. Hello, my dear. Sir Richard could not join us, could he?" Lady Shackleton asked.

Mary swallowed, her stomach rolling as she smiled tightly. "No. He's in India on business, I'm afraid."

"Pity," Henry spoke up, smiling smugly at Mary. "You find yourself unaccompanied."

"It is a pity, yes, but you can partner Mary for the evening, can't you?" Violet suggested.

Mary looked over at her Granny, the full scope of her scheme now coming to light.

"I would be delighted," Henry grinned. "We've dined together before."

Mary managed a nervous smile as she looked back at Henry.

"Splendid. Splendid," Violet smiled. "Now, Prudence, do tell me all about what happened with your roof."

"Oh, it was such a bother!" Lady Shackleton groaned, taking a seat next to Violet.

From across the room, Matthew had stopped listening to the conversation around him. He had stopped paying attention to anything but the newly arrived guests from the moment that Henry's name was announced. Now the sight of the man smiling devilishly and speaking with Mary in a most familiar manner made his blood boil. Even when the bell rang and they all made their way into the dining room, Matthew still seethed watching Henry escort Mary to her chair and take a seat next to her.

* * *

Anne took small bites of her salad, careful not to make any noise when she chewed. She didn't want to appear uncouth, and she had the feeling that she was being watched, evaluated somehow, even as everyone around the dinner table smiled and made pleasant conversation.

Being here at Downton Abbey was a unique experience for her. She dined at fine restaurants in London, but her uncle's home in the country was nothing like this grand property. The staff all performed their tasks seamlessly, to the point that she barely noticed them. Presiding over so many servants would be a daunting challenge, but she was more than up for it.

"How is it?" Matthew asked looking over at her from her right side.

"Very nice, thank you," she nodded. "The cucumber is quite fresh."

"It's grown nearby on our farms," he replied. "A rather hardy vegetable, despite appearances."

"Yes, they're quite firm and crisp," she smiled.

She looked away before getting too lost in his blue eyes. The Earl of Grantham was unlike any man she had ever met before. He was gorgeous, for one, but that wasn't what intrigued her most. Her dear Jeffrey had been killed in battle less than six months after their wedding. She barely knew him before he was conscripted. While the loss was tragic, she was saddened that she didn't mourn him as much as she thought she should have. The marriage had been brokered by their fathers, and before they could build any sort of rapport, he was called to the Army and killed.

Matthew, by contrast, seemed so easy to talk to and be around. He had a presence that she could not resist. He was brilliant and clever, so quick to turn a phrase or tell a story. Among the aristocrats that she knew, he had to easily be the most hard-working. She didn't know any other lawyers personally, and all the dukes and viscounts she was friendly with didn't keep real jobs. Her girlfriends were enamoured with that lifestyle, but she wasn't. Her parents valued a man who could build something for himself, and though he was an earl, she found that Matthew was a real man, indeed.

His tuxedo did little to hide how fit he was either, which she certainly did not mind in the slightest.

"Mary, Viscount Branksome sends his regards," she said, smiling across the table at Lady Mary. "He said he hopes to see you in London next month."

Mary smiled and nodded. "Thank you. How is Evelyn? I haven't seen him in quite some time, I'm afraid."

"Very well. The government keeps him busy, I gather. He mentioned he was taking a trip to France in the New Year," Anne replied.

"How nice," Mary said curtly.

Anne sipped her wine. She hadn't quite figured out the rest of the family just yet. Lady Edith seemed pleasant enough, though she was rather engrossed with her husband talking about farm machinery or some other business. Lady Rosamund seemed to laugh quite often at whatever Lord Lindsay had to say. Lady Grantham presided over everything, adding a comment here and there to keep the conversation going. Lady Mary, however, was difficult to gauge. She seemed quite aloof, even cold, particularly to Mr Talbot, though she smiled and nodded enough to not discourage him completely. Anne couldn't decide if Lady Mary liked her or not, but she seemed to be watching her the most of anyone.

"If Evelyn is soon to depart, we must ensure that we visit with him before Christmas," Violet declared. "Perhaps we can host something small at Grantham House when Cora returns. Anne, you'll be back in the city by then, I trust?"

"Certainly," Anne confirmed. "The Yorkshire winter can be a bit cruel for me, I'm afraid."

"It can be fierce, yes," Mary noted. "But it's important to know who can endure living here and who cannot."

Anne smiled tightly and went back to her salad.

"I'm sure that you're exaggerating," Matthew chimed in, nodding to Anne encouragingly. "One adjusts quite easily. The idea that those raised in London are somehow unable to adapt is a myth."

Anne nodded demurely, though her heart leapt at Matthew's gallant defence.

"I tend to agree with Mary," Henry commented. "We who are raised here in the country have a bit more in our blood. I find that those in the city tend to wilt under the heat of adversity and competition."

Mary smiled and nodded. "They can, yes."

"Aren't most of your races held in the south, rather?" Matthew asked. "I would expect that conditions are usually quite pristine when you drive."

"They are, yes," Henry answered easily. "That's why my Yorkshire blood, among other qualities, gives me an edge. I'm not afraid to make a pass at any given moment. One must be daring and bold to get what one wants."

He smiled knowingly at Mary.

She smiled in return.

"I cannot even begin to understand how you are able to race at such high speeds," Anne shook her head in disbelief. "Riding through the streets of London is sometimes too much for me."

"There's something to be said for being cautious," Matthew nodded to her. "Reckless endangerment for mere sport seems a bit foolish."

"Are cars your enemy, Lord Grantham?" Henry asked.

"Not at all," Matthew shrugged.

"Matthew drives an AC. The wind can be quite exhilarating with the top down," Mary smiled.

Matthew smiled and sipped his wine.

Violet arched her eyebrow at Mary's comment.

"The AC is a fine car, for the English," Henry replied. "The engine is a bit too pedestrian for my liking."

"That sounds almost unpatriotic," Matthew chuckled. "What do you prefer, Henry?"

"I'm rather in love with Italians, I'm afraid," Henry smiled. "The Alfa Romeo is a work of art. When you hear the engine start up, you know you've got some real power to work with. The speed is absolutely awe inspiring."

Matthew nodded and speared a tomato with his fork.

"I should love to take you for a ride sometime," Henry smiled at Mary. "One trip with me and the AC will seem grossly inadequate."

"That's quite the boast," Mary laughed.

"It is," Matthew agreed. "Didn't you lose to a Rolls Royce in your last race?"

"Bad luck, I'm afraid," Henry smiled, still looking at Mary. "I tried to overtake him on the dirty side of the track and lost grip. I would do it again, though. I'm not afraid of getting a bit dirty when going for glory."

"I must admit that such nuances escape me," Anne shook her head.

"That's more than fine," Matthew stated to her. "Not everyone is so easily impressed by cars going round in circles."

Mary frowned at him for a moment before looking back at Henry and reaching for her wine.

"My niece, Susan, and her husband saw your last race," Violet stated, looking across the table at Henry. "I was told that it was quite the dramatic finish. You must have needed a steady hand on the gear shift to attempt to go around the outside."

"Oh, Granny," Mary smiled, putting her glass down. "I'm surprised you even know what a gear shift is."

"I know more than you realize," Violet replied, smiling pointedly at her granddaughter.

Henry grinned, pleased to be the focus of conversation. He took a moment to take a drink before replying, giving Mary a teasing smirk. When his aunt told him about a dinner she was invited to at Downton Abbey, he barely paid attention. However, at the mention of Mary's name, he quickly got himself invited. Finding out that her husband was out of the country was a delightful bonus, not that he minded either way. The man barely paid attention to her from what Henry could tell, which he found unfathomable. Lady Mary was an absolute beauty.

He put his glass down, recalling the feel of her soft lips, her lithe body beneath his fingers. The memory of kissing another man's wife in the darkness of a jazz club made him instantly aroused. His mind worked, wondering what excuse he could conjure up to get her alone later tonight. The house was immense. There had to be numerous hidden nooks and crannies that they could use.

"There's always a crucial moment in every race," Henry explained. "Every driver is talented. Why, any man who owns a car thinks he can do what we do. The difference is instinct, courage, gumption. Who has the fortitude to dare to try what his rivals will not? Who is willing to risk himself to obtain what appears unobtainable? From a technical standpoint, my competitors are similar to me, and our cars are usually evenly matched as well. The difference is that I am prepared to do anything to win, and they are not."

Matthew opened his mouth to retort when Carson came to his side.

"The next course is ready to be served, my Lord," the butler announced.

"Excellent," Matthew muttered. "You may proceed, Carson. Thank you."

"My Lord," Carson nodded, sharing a glance with Lady Mary as the footmen swooped in to clear the dishes.

* * *

"I understand that the library here is quite impressive," Henry smiled, speaking softly as he and Mary stood by the fire. From the moment the men came through, Henry sought her out and deftly steered her away from the others.

"It's been built up over the generations. Papa was quite proud of it," she nodded, taking a sip of her sherry.

"Would you show it to me? I'm quite interested in books," he smirked.

"You read also?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him. "I wasn't aware of that."

"I have much to show you that you never knew before," he answered easily. "Come. Lead the way."

"I shouldn't," she smiled tightly. "This is a family night and Granny may need a fourth for bridge shortly."

He glanced around the room. "I count five other women in the room. My aunt shall do her ready best to fill in for you should the need arise."

"Yes, but Aunt Rosamund is trying to impress Lord Lindsay, and Edith tends not to leave Sir Anthony's side," she stammered.

"They'll manage," he said smoothly. "Come. We can tour the library and I can tell you all about the exclusive interview that I've agreed to give your husband's newspaper."

She smiled resignedly and nodded. "Very well. It's just this way."

"After you," he leered, glancing down her body as she turned and headed for the door.

"Please tell His Lordship that we're just going to the library," she told a footman on their way out.

"Yes, my Lady," the footman nodded.

* * *

"Between this place and Grantham House, I don't know how you manage it all," Anne exclaimed, smiling at Matthew.

"There's also Painswick House in London, Dower House where Lady Grantham stays, and Crawley House, where my mother resides when she isn't in Manchester, not to mention all the farms and cottages we own. It's quite the endeavour. I actually expect we'll be scaling back a bit in the coming years. There's no need to have two homes in London. We've closed some of the wings here as well. I never use them."

"Lady Rosamund may be moving out soon if she has her way," she joked, looking over at Rosamund and Lord Lindsay having an animated conversation.

He laughed. "Good for her. I don't believe it's necessary for her to re-marry, but if it makes her happy, so much the better."

"Surely you don't want her to spend the rest of her days alone?" she asked.

"Her calendar is far more full than mine is," he replied. "I believe that her life is already fulfilling as it stands, but then I'm not her."

"You're also not a woman. Society has a different view of those of us who are not wed," she admitted.

"I doubt anyone would hold your status against you, given your unfortunate circumstances," he stated.

"No, of course not, at least not for now," she nodded. "After a while, however, there will be whispers about whether or not a man would have me. Being a widow is not considered nearly as unacceptable as being divorced, for example. After some time, though, any unmarried woman is pitied in the same fashion – with quiet derision."

He nodded slowly, considering her words.

"In my humble opinion, you do not need anyone's pity," he said. "Excuse me for just a moment, please."

She smiled and nodded.

He went over to a footman who was standing to the side waiting for him.

"Yes? What is it?" Matthew asked.

"Lady Mary wanted me to inform you that she and Mr Talbot have gone off to the library, Your Lordship," the footman replied.

Matthew frowned. "Thank you for telling me. Could you have Mrs Hughes come and see me, please?"

"Yes, Your Lordship," the footman nodded, leaving to carry out his instructions.

Matthew returned to Anne.

"Everything all right?" she asked.

"Quite," he nodded. "Now, enough about me and this place. How are you keeping busy these days?"

She smiled and looked down, pleased with his interest before preparing her answer.

* * *

"Was there a particular book that you were interested in? A specific author? Or, are you more tied to a genre?" Mary asked, coming into the library.

"I don't have any favourites," Henry stated, closing the door behind him. "My fancies tend to vary."

"Well, I'm not sure if we have any books involving cars," she smirked.

"I wouldn't read them anyway," he chuckled, coming over to her. "My mechanics are trained to be up to date on the latest goings on. They tell me what I need to know and my talent does the rest."

"Are you used to having others do your work for you, then?" she asked, turning towards him as he approached her.

"I'm more of a hands-on learner," he smiled. "I'd rather live my own adventures than read about someone else's."

He came to her and took hold of her hips, pulling her in.

"You look beautiful tonight," he whispered. "This gown is quite flattering."

"Henry," she swallowed.

"I only came tonight for you, you know," he continued, staring at her hungrily. "Otherwise, I would have stayed in London."

"If Richard was here, he'd punch you in the nose for being so bold," she swallowed.

"I doubt that," he chuckled. "Though the fact that he isn't here is quite the lucky turn for both of us."

He leaned towards her. She turned her head and he kissed her cheek. Undaunted, he moved to her neck.

"Henry, we mustn't. We're in my family home," she mumbled. She pushed against his chest but he kept her in his strong hold.

"That's the beauty of it, isn't it?" he smiled. "We're the only ones here."

She breathed harshly. "Yes, but if someone were to see us…"

"Don't worry, Mary. People tend to look the other way when I'm involved. It's part of being a celebrity. You're allowed to get away with anything," he said smoothly, his hand sliding down to caress her bottom through the silk.

"Henry, please," she struggled, lifting his hand back up. "I…I just don't feel comfortable here."

"That's part of what makes this so exciting, though, isn't it?" he grinned. "Forbidden pleasure? Being with you at the club was a delight, but here we're free to do so much more."

"I'm not so sure," she managed, cringing as he kissed her shoulder.

"I wish I had known that you were alone here earlier," he rasped. "I would have sent for you and brought you to London."

"That would have been quite impossible," she replied. "I'm easily spotted."

"Perhaps, but then your husband knew that you were accompanying me to the club that night and didn't object, did he? It almost seemed as if he encouraged it," he said. "My valet can be trusted to be discrete. We wouldn't even need to leave the house."

"The mind reels at the possibilities," she gasped.

"Indeed. Oh, Mary," he said huskily, lifting her chin and moving to claim her mouth.

A sudden knock at the door caused both of them to freeze. Mary took the opportunity to push him away just as Mrs Hughes came into the library.

"Pardon me, Lady Mary," the housekeeper apologized. "His Lordship sent me to look for you and Mr Talbot. Lady Shackleton is ready to leave."

"Thank you, Mrs Hughes," Mary nodded, hoping that Henry's groping had not left her looking dishevelled. "Mr Talbot will be joining her shortly."

"Yes, my Lady," Mrs Hughes nodded. She stepped away, but left the library door open.

"I didn't think that my aunt would want to go home so soon," Henry frowned. "I was going to convince her to head back while I stayed over here for the night."

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible," Mary smiled. "Matthew is rather particular about his guests. He doesn't care for anyone but family to be here. Even when Sir Anthony stays over with Edith, he tends to become perturbed."

He laughed and shook his head. "Your cousin is a rather peculiar fool, isn't he? Well, he and Anne are well matched. She's quite awkward herself."

"She is, yes." Mary nodded. "I must say that I can't see her as a proper match for him."

"Well, she certainly does not seem suited to be a Countess, that's true," he smiled. "She is just as boring as he is, though."

"I suppose we'll have to see how it plays out," she mumbled.

"When can I see you tomorrow?" he asked, offering her his arm. "I can leave my aunt behind easily enough. We can go for a drive and get you away from prying eyes."

"My days are quite full, I'm afraid. Matthew is relying upon me to bring him up to speed on the tenants and farms in the area," she explained, taking his arm and walking towards the Great Hall.

"I didn't think you cared much for any of that," he noted.

"It's no longer my home, but one doesn't forget where one comes from," she answered. "So many estates are going under these days and I'm just determined that Downton won't be one of them. Matthew is trying to turn the place into a modern going concern, and I'm supporting him in that."

"That's fair enough, though if he were to fail, I expect that Sir Richard would be more than willing to buy the place for a song," he chuckled.

"Probably, and gut it for profit," she shook her head.

They came back into the parlour together. When Mary looked up, she found Matthew staring back at her. His gaze seemed to travel down to her hand holding on to Henry's arm. For a brief second, his blue eyes seemed to flash before he looked away and went back to talking to Anne.

Mary nodded to Henry and released him so he could go over to Lady Shackleton, who was still chatting away with Granny.

"Whisky and water, my Lady," Carson said crisply, holding the tray out to her with the drink perfectly balanced upon it.

"Thank you, Carson," she said gratefully, taking the drink and almost downing it in one go.

* * *

"It seemed there were more people in the house tonight than there's been in a while, my Lord," Bates mentioned, folding up Matthew's tuxedo.

"Quantity does not always imply quality, Bates," Matthew said tightly, tying the belt of his robe. "I'm sorry to have kept you. I was hoping that tonight would end far earlier than it did."

"That's not a problem, my Lord. Anna would have been late attending to Lady Mary in any case," Bates nodded.

"Well, make sure that Anna leaves all the laundry and mending for tomorrow. The two of you go straight home. That's an order," Matthew said firmly.

"Yes, my Lord," Bates nodded. "Thank you."

"No thanks are necessary," Matthew smiled. "I'm no expert on the subject, clearly, but I expect it is quite difficult to start a family if you and your wife don't actually retire at the same time."

Bates chuckled and nodded. "Quite right, my Lord. Good night. I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Bates," Matthew replied. "I won't need you until later. Tomorrow is Saturday and I'm going running in the morning. I don't want you to set foot in this house before 9. The same goes for Anna."

"Thank you, my Lord, but I expect that Lady Mary won't be able to wait that long for her tray," Bates commented.

Matthew pursed his lips. "Lady Mary is a guest. She does not set the schedule, I do. You and Anna have a proper lie in tomorrow."

Bates blinked in surprise. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you."

The valet left and Matthew went out into his bedroom and sat down on his bed. He looked about curiously, searching for something to occupy himself. Finally deciding to read a book, he reached over to his nightstand for the latest collection of stories that he was sifting through. A frown crossed his brow when he saw the copy of _Married Love_ amongst the pile. Shaking his head, he picked it up and opened it to the marked page.

"Modesty and Romance…" he read aloud. "In the highly evolved and cultivated woman…one of her natural phases is at times to retreat, to experience a profound sex indifference, and passionately to resent any encroachment on her solitude."

His eyes narrowed, recalling the scenes from dinner earlier. Mary had been cordial and accommodating to Henry. As a guest of the house, and the one specifically paired with her by Cousin Violet, he was the man who she was tasked with entertaining. Still, the way in which he looked at her, the way he smiled at her and touched her was more appropriate of knowing lovers than polite dinner companions. Every time that Mary laughed at his jokes or smiled at his arrogant comments it was as if Matthew could feel sharp spikes digging into the back of his head.

"She has been so thoroughly 'domesticated' by man that she feels too readily that after marriage she is all his. And by her very docility to his perpetual demands she destroys for him the elation, the palpitating thrills and surprises, of the chase…" he continued to read from the chapter.

He snapped the book shut and tossed it on the nightstand, sighing and shaking his head in exasperation. Unable to calm himself, he got up from the bed and went over to the window, his frown now becoming a scowl.

It wasn't as if Mary had done anything wrong, at least not egregiously. Henry's presence was infuriating, but she had not invited him to dinner. The fact she had to entertain him was ridiculous, but that was Cousin Violet's scheme, and he and Mary were both victims.

What bothered him above all was Mary's complicit behaviour all evening. Obviously she would not have suggested going off to the library. That was entirely Henry's idea, and had nothing to do with books, he was sure. Since it was so transparent, why had Mary agreed? If Henry was as much a cad as Matthew thought, why did she tolerate his behaviour? Matthew had spent nearly a thousand dinners with Mary now over the years in all forms of social settings. How many times had he seen her easily dissuade a would-be suitor or turn a man to stone with a well-timed arch of her eyebrow? Mary – his Mary – did not suffer fools. So why was Henry given such privileges?

He grunted, the photo of Mary and Henry dancing together coming back to him despite his protests. Were his suspicions correct? Had Carlisle allowed Henry certain liberties with his wife? How much of Mary had the man already enjoyed?

Even if Henry was the Archbishop of Canterbury, Matthew would still be angry over his spending time with Mary, particularly given all that had happened between them during her stay. To see a man, any man, behaving so presumptuously towards the woman he loved was torture. There was something about Henry that was even more grating, however. The man simply had no shame. Despite having no title, no fortune, and no particular special qualities besides being a known race car driver, he had a remarkable sense of entitlement. He genuinely believed he could have anything he wanted, that he was measurably better than others for no other reason than his own arrogance. Other drivers should yield to him. Husbands should cower as he enjoyed their wives. Spectators should chant his name and applaud his success. His world revolved around him, and everyone else was beneath him.

He fumed, shaking his head and glaring out into the darkness. This was the life Mary was relegated to for the rest of her days? This was what she would have to put up with, all because he allowed her to fall into Carlisle's clutches.

"I was waiting for you in the dining room."

He turned, the frown still on his face as he looked to the doorway and saw Mary standing there. She was wearing the silk robe that he had dared to purchase for her in London and only given to her barely two nights ago. It was a deep navy blue, with pink flowers decorating both sides. It wasn't the type of thing he expected she would wear, and he didn't think she would ever even see it, but he bought it anyway in a moment of madness following the poker game with Carlisle. Seeing her face light up when he unveiled it for her was one of the small intimate moments they shared that seemed so long ago now.

"We had plans for after everyone left and went home, if you recall," she continued, coming into the bedroom and closing the door behind her. Her voice was firm and even, but he could tell by the way her eyes avoided his and her posture was tight and rigid that she was nervous.

"I wasn't sure that we were keeping those plans, given all that happened tonight," he replied, dropping his frown but keeping his guard as she came over to the window, staying just beyond his reach.

"It was a peculiar dinner," she agreed, looking out across the grounds. "I never would have expected Anne Acland to show up, of all people."

He watched her cautiously. "Cousin Violet's surprise guests proved to be quite shocking, yes."

She looked down. "You and Anne seemed to get on quite well. I wasn't aware that you knew her."

"We've met a handful of times," he replied. "She's quite a nice girl."

She swallowed tightly and nodded reluctantly. "And you like her."

"I like her well enough," he allowed.

Her brow crinkled for a brief second. "She seemed quite taken with you. I expect that she would be most amenable if you were to make a pass eventually."

He paused for a moment. "I have considered it. We all have our duties to follow and mine are clear. Downton needs a Countess and I need an heir."

She pursed her lips, still not looking at him. "Duty binds us all in the end."

"And what duty were you following tonight?" he demanded. "Or, was it your choice to spend so much time with the esteemed Mr Talbot?"

She finally looked at him, her chin raised, her eyes defiant. "It was my choice. Henry is very pleasant company."

He crossed his arms over his front, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sure he would say the same about you. Did he enjoy the library?"

She blinked. "Yes. He enjoyed it most thoroughly."

He frowned.

"He kissed me," she declared, daring him to say something. "He put his hands on me, just as he's done before."

His eyes narrowed and darkened with anger.

"Who knows what he would have done if not for Mrs Hughes' unfortunate interruption?" she pressed. "He plans to call on me tomorrow. He wants to take a drive, spirit me away from this place, go somewhere private where we won't be interrupted."

His deep breath felt like fire shooting from his lungs.

"That's what you want to hear, isn't it?" she sneered. "You've had your suspicions ever since the poker game at Haxby, I expect. Well, you saw all the proof you needed tonight, didn't you? You know who I truly am now."

His fingers flexed against the silk of his sleeves, his mind awash with noise.

 _'…_ _her sole duty is to me. She does as I command…' Carlisle admonished him._

 _'_ _I'm not afraid of getting a bit dirty when going for glory.' Henry bragged._

 _'_ _Duty binds us all in the end,' Mary admitted._

 _'_ _Who knows what he would have done if not for Mrs Hughes' unfortunate interruption?'_

 _'_ _Lady Mary wanted me to inform you that she and Mr Talbot have gone off to the library, Your Lordship,' the footman advised._

His eyes widened in clarity.

"Well, it's been a long evening and I ought to retire. Good night," she said curtly, turning for the door.

"You're lying," he called, stopping her in her tracks.

She frowned at him. "What? Lying about what?"

"I do know who you truly are, but it's not because of what I saw tonight," he declared.

She swallowed shakily. "Don't be stupid. You have no idea what…"

He took a step forward. "Maybe he kissed you. Maybe he touched you. Maybe he's done that before, but you didn't want it. You didn't want him, and you still don't."

She sniffled. "It doesn't matter what I want. It only matters what I've done."

"That's not true. Whatever you've done is in the past. It doesn't matter now, not to me."

"You're a fool!" she snapped, her voice catching. "I'm fallen, and corrupted, and a sinner! There's nothing here for you to redeem so just leave me be!"

He shook his head, his eyes alive as he came closer to her. "You told the footman that you were going to the library. You wanted me to know. You wanted to be interrupted."

"I wanted to throw it in your face!" she hissed. "I…I wanted to…to flaunt…to display my affair with Henry…ask me! Ask me if he's had me! I know you want to! Ask!"

He shook his head. "I don't need to ask. I know what I know and you have no obligation to tell me."

Her face crumpled.

He came to her and took her in his arms. She sobbed and tried to shake him off, hitting his chest uselessly. Still he held firm.

"You can't do this!" she wailed. "You can't love me and think that will be enough! Tonight was just a small sample of what you'll have to endure. I'll only end up disappointing you and hurting you, can't you see?"

"I see that the odds are overwhelmingly against us, yes," he agreed, stroking her back. "But I do love you and you love me, and some blithering idiot and his stupid car won't scare me away."

She laughed and cried at the same time, burying her head in his shoulder and sliding her hands up his back. She breathed him in, closing her eyes and letting the warmth of his hold wash her clean.

"I do like Anne, she is a nice girl," he said softly. "But she's not you. Not even close."

She sighed in relief, lifting her head and kissing him. Her body arched towards him, trying to get even closer.

He hummed happily, teasing her with his tongue and delighting in her immediate response. They remained locked together for wondrous moments more before she eased back, staying in his hold and looking at him.

"I love you," she nodded. "I love you more than anything else in the entire world. I wish I was strong enough to let you go and spare you from all that is to come, but I find that I can't."

"There's no weakness in that," he stated, wiping her cheeks. "We've spent years trying to save each other from ourselves and look where it's gotten us? We may only have weeks left, but that's all the more reason not to waste a single moment, isn't it?"

She nodded eagerly. "I agree, my darling."

She kissed him again, smiling and laughing against his lips.

His hands snaked down and squeezed her bottom through the thin robe. He pulled back suddenly and stared at her with wide eyes.

"What is it?" she arched her eyebrow at him mischievously.

He glanced down at her robe. "Are you…? Are you not wearing anything underneath?"

She grinned and pecked him on the lips. "What would be the purpose of wearing clothes if I was going down to the dining room for you to fuck me?"

He closed his eyes and groaned as she kissed him again.

"How did you feel when you saw me with Henry tonight?" she whispered, reaching between them to undo his robe. "Did you want to punish me for spending time with him, show me who the better man is?"

"I suspect I felt similar feelings to what you felt seeing me with Anne," he growled, releasing her just long enough for her to remove his robe and drop it to the floor.

She laughed freely and turned her head to allow him access to her neck. "Poor Anne. She has done nothing at all to deserve my ire, but I hate her, truly."

He chuckled. "There's no need to think about her or anyone else. All that matters is the two of us."

"Just the two of us," she echoed. "Shall we go down to the dining room? We can still keep to our plans."

He opened his eyes and leered at her. "There's no need to leave since you've already come appropriately dressed."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Well, we need to fix you, then."

She undid the buttons of his pyjamas, kissing her way down his front as she lowered herself to her knees.

His eyes widened as he watched her pull down his trousers and shorts. She undid her robe and threw it off, revealing her naked body to him just as she took him into her mouth.

"Mary!" he sighed, his head falling back as she worked on him, her hands on his waist to steady herself. He reached down and twined his fingers with hers, his hips moving in response to her eager mouth. She glanced up at him and seeing her dark eyes almost undid him. After several minutes, she finally released him and kissed her way back up his body, licking his ear as she slid her naked body against his.

"I want to watch you take me," she breathed. "I want to see the look on my face when you make me yours."

He snarled hungrily and kissed her heatedly in confirmation.

Taking him by the hand she led him to bed and crawled in ahead of him. Moving over to take hold of one of the bedposts, she smiled at the perfect view in the mirror across the room. Her pulse jumped when she watched him put the French letter on his impressive length and stalk over to her from behind.

His hand crept up her bare back, finally settling on her shoulder. He nudged her legs apart with his knees, his other hand raising her hip and bringing her into position.

She licked her lips in anticipation and moaned when he teased her, giving her the lightest of touches as his hips pressed against her bottom.

"Fuck me, Matthew," she ordered, glaring at their reflection. "Fuck me like only you can."

She cried out when he thrust inside of her, his grip tightening on her body as he pushed in deeper. Her eyes remained wide open, taking in the lurid scene. She saw him rear back and plunge forward again, every inch met by a louder moan in answer.

His pace quickened, her hands clutching at the bedpost to keep her upright. Her eyelids struggled to remain open as sheer exhilaration rippled with her. The sight and sound of them coming together sent liquid heat through her mind. Their lovemaking had shown her that she didn't know what true pleasure was until this month, and she savoured the familiar stirring in her stomach as she barrelled towards what she knew would be the first of several shattering releases. The first night she was stunned by his endurance, but now she thrived on it, wickedly looking forward to a long night of passion to erase all that she had to endure earlier tonight.

"Matthew!" she called, her head falling down as she pushed back against him.

Her eyes shot open when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled back.

"Watch," he commanded, his voice thick with lust.

She moaned and babbled, seeing the woman across the room smile just before she shouted with joy.

She found his face as she shook. He seemed to be scowling but she knew better. He wasn't angry or upset. It was a look of triumph, and she loved it, loved how he wanted her so openly despite everything standing in their way. She wasn't foolish enough to believe that anything was solved now that they were lovers, and even though he was far more optimistic than she was, she knew he didn't believe it either. Still, that made their desire for each other all the more thrilling. They would not allow the world to stop them or dictate how they would act. Right here, right now, they were together, and would love each other until they no longer could.

"I love you," she gasped. "I love you, Matthew. I love you. I love you. I love you!"

"Mary!" he shouted, reducing her to whimpers and cries as he took her fiercely and went over in the same moment that she did.

* * *

"Matthew?"

"Mmm?" he groaned, keeping his eyes closed. He pulled her closer against him and kissed the top of her head. "Is it time for you to leave already?"

"No, not yet," she whispered.

He slowly opened his eyes and looked down at her. She was resting against him, her head on his chest. It was remarkable how comfortable it felt, the brush of her hair against his skin, the feel of her soft breasts against his side, her leg wrapped across his.

"Are you all right, darling?" he asked sleepily.

She nodded and smiled. "I never…I haven't been with Henry. You're the only other man I've been with since I married."

He smiled and nodded. "I know."

She grinned in relief and leaned up to kiss him.

He hugged her close and kissed her back.

"Henry is a beloved figure amongst a large part of Richard's readership," she continued. "We've been out together in London, and he has kissed me and held me, but that's it."

He nodded. "Mary, how can you let this go on? How can you let your own husband treat you like some object to be passed around? I'm not trying to make light of what happened with Pamuk and how that would impact upon you if it was made public, but surely it would die out after a time. I love you. I'll protect you. End your marriage and come home, please."

She looked at him sadly and reached up to caress his face. "Darling, let's not talk about this now, please. You know me. You know me better than anyone. I wish I didn't care about what people think, but I'm afraid I do. To lose everything I've worked so hard to build, I don't know if I could survive that, and what's worse, I would only end up resenting you for it."

"You wouldn't lose everything," he implored her. "You would lose Haxby but this is your true home. In time, Society would accept you back, I'm sure of it. I would make sure of it."

She nodded and settled back down against his chest, turning her head away from him. "Let's sleep, darling. We still have time left to talk about your plans."

He breathed deeply and rubbed her back, his fingers tracing her spine up and down. Eventually, he felt her relax and fall back asleep. His eyes remained open a while longer, his mind working. All the possible avenues he had contemplated were shots in the dark at best, but he knew there was a solution, and he was more determined than ever to find it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

He nodded. "Mary, how can you let this go on? How can you let your own husband treat you like some object to be passed around? I'm not trying to make light of what happened with Pamuk and how that would impact upon you if it was made public, but surely it would die out after a time. I love you. I'll protect you. End your marriage and come home, please."

She looked at him sadly and reached up to caress his face. "Darling, let's not talk about this now, please. You know me. You know me better than anyone. I wish I didn't care about what people think, but I'm afraid I do. To lose everything I've worked so hard to build, I don't know if I could survive that."

"You wouldn't lose everything," he implored her. "You would lose Haxby but this is your true home. In time, Society would accept you back, I'm sure of it. I would make sure of it."

She nodded and settled back down against his chest, turning her head away from him. "Let's sleep, darling. We still have time to talk about your plans."

He breathed deeply and rubbed her back, his fingers tracing her spine up and down. Eventually, he felt her relax and fall back asleep, and he kept his eyes open a while longer, his mind working. All the possible avenues he had contemplated were shots in the dark at best, but he knew there was a solution, and he was determined to find it.

 **Chapter 7:**

 **Dower House, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew. Well, this is a surprise."

Matthew rose from his chair and nodded his head as Violet came into the parlour. Her cane stomped firmly on the hardwood as she went over to her chair and sat down. Casting a perplexed look at her unexpected morning guest, she arched her eyebrow curiously at his attire.

"I can't recall the last time that a gentleman attended at my home wearing…well, now, what is it that you are wearing, exactly?" Violet frowned.

He smiled and glanced down at his running shoes. "I apologize, Cousin. I was out this morning for a jog and I decided to stop in to say hello."

"Well, hello," Violet nodded. "And what was so urgent that you needed to see me without going back home to change into proper clothes first?"

He chuckled and waited while Spratt served their tea. Taking a slow sip, he waited for the butler to bow and leave the room. It was not lost upon him that Spratt cast a rather disdainful eye on his running pants, high socks and short-sleeved shirt.

"I wanted to thank you for last evening," he nodded. "It was quite a memorable night."

She smiled. "It was, wasn't it? I hope that it was both entertaining and enlightening for you."

"My eyes were opened, yes," he agreed. "Just when I thought that I had a handle on things, I discovered new frontiers last night. I was so excited that I barely slept."

She raised her eyebrow at his choice of words. "Well, that is most welcome news. Sometimes, being reminded of what one doesn't know can be uncomfortable, but that does not take away from the lesson."

He smiled and sipped his tea. "I'm finding that learning new lessons can be the most terrific fun, actually."

She nodded and sipped her tea. "How fortunate for you."

They each fell silent and enjoyed their tea. Violet watched Matthew carefully, unable to shake the feeling that his smiling face was thinking of last night far differently than she was.

"How is Mary?" Violet asked, setting her tea cup down. "I didn't have as much time with her as I would have liked. It seemed that she never left Mr Talbot's side."

He nodded and looked down at his cup for a moment. "He did not seem keen on releasing her. I found him rather deplorable, to be honest."

Her eyebrow shot up. "Deplorable? That is a rather strong characterization, isn't it?"

"Entirely accurate from what I saw," he replied, looking over at her. "He was behaving overly familiar with a married woman. I'm surprised that you didn't notice."

"I didn't see anything untoward about his behaviour," she stated. "Then again, men can find themselves getting carried away when a woman's husband is not around. However, I thought Mr Talbot was fine for his role."

"His role?" he questioned.

"As a dinner guest, and a friend of Mary's," she explained. "I didn't want her to be left stuck with Prudence for company."

"There are others who would have been more suitable than Henry, in my view," he stated. "You thought that the way he behaved was acceptable, did you?"

"More acceptable than you did, apparently, since you are comfortable calling a man you met for the first time last night deplorable," she replied.

"Perhaps it's down to our having different perspectives where Mary is concerned," he suggested, looking at her pointedly.

"You do tend to see her in a different light than the rest of us," she agreed.

"I do. I don't see her situation as being as hopeless as the rest of you do," he nodded. "I don't think it's necessary for her to accept whatever comes her way as though she has no say in her own happiness."

"Hopeless? Come now, Matthew," Violet snorted. "She has a life, an enviable reputation in Society and a husband who provides well for her."

"A husband who she doesn't love, however, and never did," he retorted.

"Love," she shook her head. "Love can bloom over time between a husband and wife."

"It can, so long as it is nurtured and encouraged from its beginnings. Nothing grows if it never existed to begin with," he said.

"Such poetry!" she smiled. "Mary and Sir Richard love each other in their own way. It was much the same for me when I was her age, Rosamund and Cora as well. You know how marriages work for our sort of people."

"I know that tolerance, rather than love, tends to be the highest ambition sought," he noted. "I want more than that for Mary, however. Sybil and Edith have both made matches for more than just convenience, and I see no reason why Mary shouldn't have the same."

"Besides the fact that she is already married?" she huffed.

He frowned. "I'm quite sure that Robert would have wanted a good man for Mary, rather than one who only craves power and sees her as a means to achieve that, rather than as a wife and partner."

"And yet he was willing to throw her at you sight unseen simply because you were his heir. Recall that he raised no objection when Sir Richard asked for his permission," she countered. "You know that my son did not love Cora from the beginning. He wanted happiness for all three of his children, but do not think that he felt love was paramount above all things in a marriage."

"If it came down to a choice between two lives that were similar in all respects but for one being completely devoid of love, I expect that he would urge Mary to choose differently," he declared.

She took a deep breath and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Matthew, I'm afraid that you have missed your chance," she nodded, her voice softening. "I told you, didn't I? I told you that Mary was still in love with you. I told you that divorce was not an option for our sort. Surely you recall that?"

He looked down and nodded sombrely.

"Well, then you can fully appreciate that your talk of rescuing Mary is misplaced. She has a husband. She has made her choice. Breaking off with Sir Richard now will make her a spectacle and subject her to ridicule. I know you believe that she deserves better, but Society will not agree. She has a life and she will live it. I suggest that you do the same," she advised.

He looked over at her suspiciously. "That was why you invited Anne to dinner. To give me a shove in her direction."

"To nudge you," she corrected him. "To show you what is possible, and what is not."

He frowned. "So Henry's presence was to both occupy Mary and send a message, was it?"

"It was to show you that she is not nearly as hopeless or lonely as you seem to believe," she explained. "She is not trapped in a tower. She has friends, including Mr Talbot. Now, he may be rather eager, but Mary is more than capable of dealing with him, and if there is any reprimand to be given for his behaviour, it will be Sir Richard who decides accordingly, as is his right."

"But Carlisle isn't here, is he?" he stated.

"No, but he will return in several weeks' time and Mary will go back to Haxby," she noted. "You would do well to remember that."

"Cousin Violet, if I am aware of anything, it is precisely how much time Mary has left in my house," he said firmly.

"Good," she nodded. "I'm glad to hear it. My dear boy, I do not wish to see you in any pain, however, it would be quite sad for you to have survived all the horrors of War only to come back and waste your days chasing after a dream that has long since faded."

"And you are content to leave things as they stand?" he asked. "You believe that Mary deserves nothing better that Carlisle?"

She sighed. "Matthew, I have no admiration for Sir Richard. Mary is strong. She is well aware of the situation that she finds herself in and what lies in store for her in the future. Knowing this, she has decided to forge ahead. I respect that decision and support her in it entirely."

He frowned and looked out the window in consternation.

"Now, while Anne remains a guest at her uncle's property, perhaps you ought to call upon her? I'm sure she would be most appreciative," she suggested.

He turned back and looked at her for a moment before replying.

"I'll consider that," he nodded, putting his tea cup aside. "As with all of your advice, I will take it in the spirit that it is given."

She looked at him guardedly as he rose from his chair and bowed his head to her.

"I must be off. I wanted to take Mary out for a drive today and I expect she's just finishing her breakfast. Good day, Cousin," he smiled.

"Good day, Matthew," she replied.

He turned for the door and stopped. "Oh, and I do not believe it would be convenient to have any more special dinners until next month. I'm going to be quite busy with work over these next weeks and I cannot spare the time, you understand."

"Mary mentioned that you were quite occupied, yes," she nodded. "There must be some grand project filling your days."

"The most important project of my career," he confirmed. "I would even go so far as to say it is very much a life-changing endeavour."

"Life-changing? Well!" she repeated.

"Indeed. Some would call it an impossible challenge, but if I am successful, my most important client will reap the reward," he said. He nodded to her and left the room.

She watched him go, her eyes narrow as she processed his strange visit.

 **Coulter Farm, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary smiled and leaned back in her seat, enjoying the breeze flying past as the AC cruised down the country road. When she normally travelled by car, she didn't pay much attention to the speed or the journey. The automobile was a means to get from point A to point B, and that was it. She did acknowledge that it was faster and more convenient than a hansom cab or wagonette, but the size of the engine or the thickness of the tires did not interest her in the slightest.

She looked over at Matthew. His eyes were set on the road ahead, his hands comfortably on the wheel. He had left his hat back at Downton Abbey and his blonde hair fluttered in the wind quite comically. Still, she admired him. He seemed at ease and confident while driving, neither hurried, nor bored. His casual mood was contagious. She didn't know where they were headed, but she didn't care. She was out for a weekend drive with the man she loved, the sun was out and the countryside was peaceful. All was well today.

"You're looking quite smug," she noted, leaning over towards him. Having to raise her voice to be heard was new for her, but she found it quite fun being able to yell at Matthew with impunity.

"Am I?" he smiled, keeping his eyes focused on the road.

"Yes. I believe that you enjoy keeping secrets," she stated.

"It isn't that I enjoy keeping secrets, darling," he clarified. "It's that I enjoy having an advantage over you. You must admit it is quite a rare thing."

He glanced over at her and gave her a teasing smirk before looking back at the road.

She laughed and shook her head. A witty retort was required, but she didn't bother trying. Ever since she came to Downton to stay with him for the month, she found she enjoyed allowing him these small victories.

"Would you at least give me a clue?" she asked playfully.

He pursed his lips and considered her request. "I suppose it depends on what you are offering in exchange."

She arched her eyebrow and regarded him suspiciously. He was getting quite good at rising to her every challenge. Their banter was even more stimulating now than ever before. Becoming lovers had brought the best out of both of them, it seemed. She felt more in tune with him than anyone else in her entire life.

"What would sway you? I can easily guess," she smirked.

"Can you, now?" he smiled.

"Tell me where we're going and I shall ensure you are richly rewarded when we arrive," she arched her eyebrow.

He chuckled. "That sounds quite vague."

"I'm sure that you can imagine something appropriate," she smiled. "Or should I say inappropriate?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather have something more certain than a promise that you can easily go back on."

She nodded. "Very well. Name your price."

He looked over at her seriously. "I want another week."

She blinked in surprise. "That seems a rather high price for just one clue."

He gave her a knowing look before turning back to the road. "I'm serious. Carlisle is away until the middle of next month. You could stay an extra week, even two."

She sighed and looked ahead at the road. "Darling, it's not that simple. He would have instructed the servants to expect me back at Haxby on the specific day. They're far more loyal to him than they are to me. I can't delay."

"I think we should make him come and collect you," he said. "Let him try and get into Downton. I'll have words with him, then."

She frowned. "You shouldn't want that. Besides, the danger he poses isn't that he'll physically try to take me back. If I were to anger him enough by trying to leave him, he would play his strongest card."

He frowned. "He would publish."

She looked over at him and nodded sadly. "I've seen how he works. He has specific instructions left to his trusted officers at all of his newspapers. That way, if anything was to befall him – even his death – the secrets that he keeps would be immediately unveiled. It's his way of ensuring that his legacy endures."

"If he was to fall, he'd take as many people with him as possible," he shook his head.

"Exactly. Darling, I love you for trying to find a way for us to be together. Please know that if it was only up to me, I would be your wife already. Now, though…" she muttered.

"Now, we're stuck, all because of my weakness," he said bitterly.

"That's not the reason," she pleaded.

He scowled. "It is. Captain Crawley, leader of men, fearlessly charging at the enemy, yet too full of himself and wrapped up in his own self-pity to save the woman he loves from a horrible fate."

She cringed. "Darling, please. Let's not dwell on any of that and enjoy the day. We were discussing what else I could offer for you to divulge where we're going."

He took a deep breath and gave her a brave smile. "There's no need, darling. We've arrived."

She turned and looked around in surprise as he pulled off the road and down the long laneway past empty fields and up to the old farmhouse they visited last week. Much had changed in that time. The old dilapidated barn had been torn down and the frame of a brand new one was up in its place. The area around the buildings that had been overrun with weeds and other growth was now swept clear and a fresh layer of soil was spread across the land. She smiled as they drove past stacks of new lumber and piles of fresh dirt and gravel.

"You've been busy," she noted.

He smiled. "The workers have been taking full advantage of the warmer weather we've had so far. We're trying to push to get as much done as we can before it gets cold and the ground hardens up."

She took it all in as he brought them around to the back of the property and a wide open field.

"Are we taking another tour?" she asked when the car came to a stop.

"Not exactly," he smiled. He got out of the car and came around to her side.

She waited for him to open her door. When he did, she turned to take his hand and step outside.

"Not so fast," he stopped her. "You're not getting out just yet."

She frowned and looked to her right before staring back at him in confusion. "What?"

"Slide over," he smiled, nodding towards the other side of the car.

"But that's your seat," she noted.

"That's the driver's seat," he pointed out. "Slide over."

She frowned and moved over to his seat, looking at the strange gauges and the intimidating gear shift.

He got in on her side of the car and closed the door.

"Why did we switch places?" she asked.

"Because, darling, it's rather difficult for you to drive the car from the passenger seat," he replied. "Now put your hands on the steering wheel."

Her eyes bulged in shock. "You want me to drive?"

"I want you to learn how to drive," he nodded. "It will likely take quite a while before you can actually drive, but we can start slowly. Now, put your hands on the steering wheel."

She reached out and took hold of the steering wheel, trying to remember where Matthew had put his hands.

"But why should I drive?" she questioned, looking over at him with a slight panic in her voice. "I have a driver and ladies do not drive to begin with."

"Edith drives," he pointed out. "I imagine that Tom has taught Sybil by now also. So, it's your turn, Lady Mary."

She swallowed nervously and looked at the steering wheel. Edith driving was something rather peculiar to her, but with Sir Anthony's advanced age and injury to his arm, it was a skill her sister probably would need sooner rather than later. Mary never imagined herself driving. Certainly, Richard would never allow it.

She blinked, a shiver running up her spine. Lady Mary Carlisle learning to drive, with Matthew as her teacher besides. The very thought would probably give her husband a heart attack.

That was plenty reason for her.

"A bit further apart," he said, reaching over and positioning her hands. She breathed in his scent and smiled at the warmth of his touch.

"What makes an automobile go is the throttle, which is the pedal under your right foot. The car won't move no matter how much you press the throttle if it isn't in gear. The gear shift in the centre here is how you have the engine move the car forward, and to do so, you must press the clutch, which is the pedal furthest to your left. The centre pedal is the brake, that's how you stop. Following?" he said.

She frowned and looked down at the three pedals he described, then over to the gear shift. "Yes, I think so. Throttle means go. Brake means stop."

"Good. Now, we have a nice open field before us so that we minimize any potential problems. I want you to keep your right hand on the wheel and give me your left hand," he instructed.

She took his hand. He moved it to the gear shift and placed it there.

"Slowly hold down the clutch with your left foot and move the gear shift to the top left for first gear," he said. "When you feel it click into place, press the throttle with your right foot and the car will start to move."

She frowned in concentration and slowly did as he told. The engine seemed to protest at first, and the car lurched a bit, but eventually, with his encouragement, she got the sequence right and the car moved forward.

"It's moving!" she cried, taking her feet off the pedals.

"Yes, that's the point," he chuckled. "It's all right. Put your foot back on the throttle and gently push to accelerate."

She swallowed and complied. The car picked up a bit of speed as she hit the pedal.

"Good, good," he nodded. "Now, we have a wide open field so you can go as far as you like. Get used to how hard you need to press to accelerate, and when you're comfortable, ease off of the throttle a bit and try turning the wheel."

The car almost came to a full stop before she tried turning the wheel. The tires churned up the field as they went, picking up small chunks of dirt and grass, particularly when she hit the brakes or throttle a bit too hard. After several minutes, she managed to turn the car in a full circle, or at least a rectangular shape. She drove them a ways across the field, turned the car around in a wide arc and went back to where they started. As he gave her more and more instructions, a smile crept across her face and she was able to change gears, accelerate and brake without him having to repeat every step to her. Every gear change was laboured and produced a sickening grinding sound, and sometimes she hit the throttle too much or applied the brakes too abruptly, but she got the hang of it.

"Very good. Now, let's have a bit of fun," he smiled after she completed several circuits. "I want you to keep the car in a straight line and move through the gears. Be careful that you don't switch too early or too late, and give it plenty of throttle."

She nodded and got the car moving again. Pressing down on the throttle, she carefully switched into second gear, then dared for third as her pulse and the car both sped up.

"That's it," he said, leaning over and putting his arm around her shoulders protectively. "Keep going. More throttle. Faster."

Her breath caught as the car plowed forward. She never paid much attention to the actual speed when Matthew was driving, but now that she was behind the wheel herself, she wondered if they were still on the ground or not. Her pulse was racing as the convertible roadster zipped along, the feeling of being in control of such power sending her mind soaring.

"Now release the throttle a bit, but don't touch the brake," he nodded.

She gasped as she lifted her foot. The car coasted along, barely slowing as it crested a slight rise and went barrelling down the other side.

"Do you like it?" he asked, smiling at her, his mouth near her shoulder.

She nodded eagerly. "It's incredible. I never imagined it would feel so…so…"

He grinned. "Liberating."

She nodded, afraid to look at him and take her eyes off the road, but thrilled all the same.

He reached over and steadied the steering wheel. Smiling at her excitement, he kissed her cheek softly.

"Do you see, darling? You can do anything. Anything at all. You can fly," he grinned.

She laughed loudly and happily, marvelling at this bizarre happening. Lady Mary Carlisle driving a car, and speeding recklessly with wild abandon. When the car began to slow, he talked her through switching back down through the gears and bringing the car to a halt with the brake. As soon as they were stopped, she turned and grabbed him.

"That was so very fun!" she beamed, drawing him close and kissing him hard.

He laughed and kissed her back. "I know I'm not a famous race car driver, but you seemed to enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

She smiled and kissed him again. "Forget him. I'll go for a ride with you any day, Lord Grantham."

He laughed and held her as they kissed.

"Do you think there's enough room in here for us to…" she mumbled between kisses.

He snorted. "Sadly, it's a rather tight fit for that. Not to mention, I'd be terrified that one of us might put the car in gear by mistake and we'd end up in a ditch or a creek bed."

"Pity," she said, licking his lips. "I'm in the mood to thank my gorgeous instructor for his lessons."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "Well, that sounds enticing. I want to show you the progress we've made here and at the other farms first, though."

"Spoilsport," she frowned playfully.

He laughed. "All right, let's put the car in gear again and head east."

"Darling, perhaps you should take over for the rest of the day," she nodded. "I do love driving, much to my surprise, but I don't necessarily trust myself on an actual road, or around buildings."

He gave her a quick kiss. "Fair enough."

They traded spots and he got them going again. The cheerful smile stayed on her face all through their tour and along the drive back home.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Matthew frowned as he walked through the parlour, over to the sitting room and into the Great Hall. He glanced around, confused by what he saw. The look of bewilderment remained when he reached the library.

"Ah, you're home," Mary smiled from her seat on the sofa. "The tea is still hot."

"Good," he mumbled, coming over and sitting down next to her. She poured him a cup and he accepted it with a nod. Taking a slow sip, he kept looking around.

"Something the matter?" she asked, sipping her own tea.

"I noticed that there seems to be a decided increase in the amount of flowers we have in the house," he said slowly, looking at the ornate vases with their overflowing elegant arrangements of lilacs, roses, lilies and other varieties that he didn't immediately recognize.

"Yes, I thought there wasn't enough colour in most of the rooms. It was getting rather drab," she replied easily, going back to her book.

"And you took it upon yourself to change that?" he questioned.

"It was a rather safe bet that you were never going to take up the task," she smiled. "I took Anna and Mrs Hughes into the Village while you were at the office the other day. We made the order and they were delivered this morning."

He looked at her in disbelief. "And you didn't see fit to consult me on this?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," she nodded. "I think they're quite lovely, don't you?"

"Of course, they are, yes, but Mary, the reason I scaled back on those types of expenses was that to fill all of the rooms with flowers and replace them regularly was a significant cost," he noted. "I'm not so sure that starting back up again is a good use of our money."

"You seem to be doing quite well for yourself. Carson advises me that your changes have cut costs significantly, and judging by what I saw during our tour of the farms last week, the estate will see a marked rise in takings," she replied.

"That is the hope, yes, but spending needlessly now is not particularly advisable," he protested.

She looked up from her book and smiled. "I wouldn't say it's needless. I want your house to look its best, that's all."

He took a deep breath and paused before continuing. "Thank you, darling, really. I still don't think that…"

"Matthew," she stopped him. "It's costing you less than half of what Mama used to spend on flowers."

He blinked. "What? How did you manage that?"

She smiled. "Firm but fair negotiation. You'd be surprised how far an endorsement from our family goes. In exchange for allowing the florist to advertise that she is the exclusive provider of flowers to Downton Abbey, including taking photographs of the larger pieces, we received a significant discount. Add to that the savings of using only locally grown flowers, rather than importing from London and elsewhere, and you have all the beauty of fresh flowers without the exorbitant cost that you detest so much."

He stared at her in awe.

"This is the part where you say 'thank you, my darling. You are brilliant'," she teased.

He blinked and nodded. "Thank you, my darling. You are brilliant. That's wonderful news."

She smiled and went back to her book. "You're welcome."

He sipped his tea, still mulling over the situation in astonishment.

"You needn't act so surprised, you know. I am entirely capable of running a household, including making such decisions," she joked.

He smiled and leaned towards her. "I have every confidence in you."

She arched her eyebrow at him playfully. "That's what you want, isn't it? That's the reason you have me choosing menus and reviewing the cleaning schedules and so on?"

He nodded. "I want you to see what you would have if you moved back here. I want you to know what your life would be like as Countess of Grantham. It would be more than just managing the house, but you would have complete control here."

She smirked and sipped her tea. "I seem to have taken your bait."

"Good. I'll keep pressing my case until you find it overwhelmingly compelling," he smiled.

She set her tea cup down and closed her book. "Darling, I much prefer Downton to Haxby. You don't need to convince me of where I'm better suited. I grew up hoping I would one day hold power here. Besides that, you're here. You know where you stand with me."

He grinned and nodded. "I love hearing you say that."

"But," she cautioned. "This isn't about what I want. Nothing's changed. To have had these past two weeks with you has been fantastic, but I still must go when my stay is over."

"I know that's how you feel now, but I haven't given up yet," he stated.

She sighed sadly. "Matthew, I'm afraid that you must accept that…"

"My Lord, my Lady," Carson called from the doorway.

"Carson," Matthew replied, looking over at the butler.

"Telephone call for you, my Lord," Carson announced. "A Mr Wakefield from London."

Mary blinked at hearing the name. Wakefield was the investigator that Matthew had hired to report to him on Kemal Pamuk years ago. She discovered his report in Matthew's filing cabinet in the attics. There was no indication amongst those papers that the man was still working for Matthew, though. She assumed that all that was over with.

"I'll take it in my study. Thank you, Carson," Matthew nodded.

"Yes, my Lord," Carson bowed before leaving.

"It's about work. I shouldn't be long," Matthew told her as he rose from the sofa. "Are we all set to go over to Loxley for dinner?"

She smiled and nodded to him. "All set for a bland dinner free of any trace of salt."

He gave her a teasing frown before heading off for his study.

She watched him go, arching her eyebrow as she wondered what the phone call was truly all about, as she suspected it had nothing to do with his work.

 **Loxley Hall, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Sybil is absolutely shocked," Edith smiled. "Her last letter demanded all the sordid details of your stay at Downton with Matthew – her words, not mine."

Mary frowned and sipped her sherry. "She was equally nosey in her letter to me. There are no details, sordid or otherwise. He invited me to stay while Richard is away and I accepted. We've been enjoying catching up and that's all."

"If there's nothing more than that, you won't be against staying here with us until Richard's return, then," Edith said pointedly.

Mary arched her eyebrow wryly at her sister. "Edith, we've been getting along far better lately but let's not push our luck."

Edith laughed and shook her head.

"Sybil's one to talk of sordid details," Mary shrugged. "Running off to Ireland with the chauffeur and now carrying his child. I would need quite some time to catch up to her."

"Tom's a respectable journalist now, they're happily married and well settled," Edith noted. "It's a disappointingly normal life she's living over there."

"Until he rises up in revolution and drags her along with him," Mary grumbled. "I suppose she won't be back for Christmas now with the birth due to come soon after."

"Most likely not, though would you have seen her anyway even if she was?" Edith asked. "I'm not planning on seeing you beyond your Season party."

"Richard spent a Christmas at Downton. It's possible he would again," Mary suggested.

Edith frowned. "That was before Matthew became the Earl. His visits to Downton dropped drastically after that, as did yours."

Mary looked down at her lap. "Well, I'll give her my best wishes all the same. Hopefully, I'll get the chance to meet my niece or nephew in the New Year."

Edith looked at her sister sympathetically and didn't reply.

Mary looked across the room to where Sir Anthony and Matthew were chatting amiably with one of Edith's neighbours. The sitting room at Loxley was smaller than the one at Downton, which could be said about all of the rooms and the entire house and property itself. Sir Anthony's home was smaller than Haxby, even, but his lands were devoted to farms and gardens, while Richard's sat fallow and unused. The house was quaint and wasn't worth much, but Edith had built a life here, and Mary respected that, even if she didn't say it out loud.

"Edith, can you tell me about Matthew's life since Papa died?" Mary asked quietly, looking at him for a moment before turning to her sister. "I know it's been difficult for him to take over and manage the estate, but what about just his normal life? I barely ever saw him in London or heard anything about him. When I saw Anne Acland at dinner last week, Granny mentioned that she knew Matthew from last summer's Garden Party. I hadn't heard that they were acquainted."

Edith considered her sister's request and pondered her answer as she sipped her water. Finally, she nodded and spoke quietly.

"In the beginning, he was a recluse," Edith began. "We were all in mourning, but he seemed to be even more despondent than Mama at times. He went to Church so often, that's what I recall most. He and Isobel would go three or four times a week."

Mary nodded, her stomach churning at the information. Life seemed like a blur in the months after Papa died. She rarely came to Downton, using her duties at Haxby and in London as a way to distract herself.

"He went to London quite often, actually," Edith continued. "Anthony would call upon him regularly just to keep his spirits up and try and help out with managing the farms, but he was never around. I don't quite know what he got up to there. He didn't open Grantham House at all, just stayed at his club, apparently."

Mary frowned, glancing over at Matthew again. What business did he have in London?

"About eight months after Papa passed, Matthew showed up on our doorstep unannounced," Edith recalled. "I was quite surprised but he brought a lovely bottle of wine and flowers with him and wanted to have a chat. We had a wonderful day together. I'll never forget it. We talked about the early years and Papa and his plans for the future. He had an entire list of tasks he had prepared and wanted to talk to Anthony about buying back some of the farms and converting them from crops to livestock. I didn't quite understand it all but one thing I remember so clearly was how spirited he seemed. It was like seeing a different person from the man who was so crushed less than a year earlier. Ever since then, he's been far more engaging. He calls me once a week, you know."

Mary blinked in surprise. "He does? He never mentioned that."

Edith smiled and nodded. "He's often too busy to take tea, but he rings here in the afternoons and we just talk about whatever we've been up to. Sometimes he talks to Anthony as well, but not all the time. I quite enjoy our chats. He never seems hurried. I feel as if I can tell him anything and he wouldn't mind."

Mary nodded. In the past two weeks, she had learned to appreciate that new side of Matthew as well. He had a way about him now where he gave someone his complete attention and seemed as if he was genuinely interested in whatever they had to say.

"He writes to Sybil more often than I do," Edith nodded. "I don't know if it's the loss of Papa or Isobel moving back to Manchester that makes him want to keep in touch more often, but it's quite unlike how he used to be."

"It's nice," Mary noted.

"It is," Edith agreed. "He doesn't really ask us about you, in case you were wondering."

Mary swallowed tightly. "Oh? I'm not surprised."

"Actually, I suppose I should clarify. He always asks us about you, but he never wants to hear the details. He asks about your health and if you're keeping busy, whether you've got a party coming up or something. But he never wants to hear about Haxby or Sir Richard. He just wants to know that you're well."

Mary looked at her sister in surprise. "I see."

"That was all before this month, though, of course," Edith smiled. "He hasn't asked about you at all in our conversations lately."

Mary smiled and took a sip of sherry.

"Mary, you should know that Granny spoke to me following the dinner we had at Downton," Edith advised.

Mary frowned. "Regarding what, pray?"

"I think you know," Edith stated. "She said that she was concerned about you spending a month alone with Matthew, that the two of you might reopen some old wounds. She wanted me to talk to you and remind you of how fragile he is when it comes to you."

Mary closed her eyes briefly and shook her head. "Of course, she did. And you share her concern, do you?"

"I don't know what the two of you get up to and frankly, I don't want to. It's none of my business," Edith shook her head. "Granny's right about Matthew, though. No matter how glad he is that you are friends again, when you go back to Haxby, he'll be gutted."

Mary looked down at her lap. "He won't be the only one."

Edith sighed. "Granny would prefer you not to stay with him any longer, but I don't think that's right. When I spoke earlier about how much more alive Matthew was when he showed up here that day. Well, I see the same thing in you. That night of the dinner, you were absolutely glowing, and it wasn't because of Henry Talbot, I know that."

Mary laughed and shared a knowing glance with her sister.

Edith looked across the room at her husband and smiled before turning back to Mary.

"We don't have much choice over what the heart desires, do we?" Edith asked quietly.

Mary closed her eyes and smiled wanly. "No," she shook her head. "No, we don't."

"Just know what you're doing, please," Edith counselled. "Anthony warned me so many times that I shouldn't marry him. He didn't want me to waste my life on him, he said. I know there will be years, hopefully not too many, and hopefully still long in coming, that I'll barely recognize him, but I've accepted that, and it's a small price to pay for how happy I am now."

Mary nodded.

"I'm with child," Edith laughed. "We're going to have a baby. He can't believe it. He keeps joking that it must not be his, that I had some young noble take care of the task during one of the Seasons."

Mary laughed incredulously. "Oh, Edith."

"I sometimes get sad thinking that he won't have as long with our children as he ought to, but then Papa died far before his time as well. Patrick never even got to marry or have children. I think that I've learned to enjoy life as it happens, and not worry too much over tomorrow," Edith nodded.

Mary reached over and squeezed her sister's hand. "Well done, Edith. So very well done."

Edith looked at their joined hands in surprise, then smiled and squeezed Mary's hand before letting go.

"Lady Edith, your husband has issued me a challenge, and I am afraid that as a proper gentleman, I cannot refuse," Matthew smiled, coming over and nodding to Edith.

Edith laughed and looked over at her husband before glancing up at her cousin. "And what does this challenge involve, Lord Grantham?"

Matthew bowed respectfully, a playful smile on his lips. "He dares to claim that he and you together are an unstoppable team at the highly rated game of Pit. Well, I had to object. You see, I consider myself the foremost Pit player in all of Yorkshire."

Edith grinned and nodded. "I suppose that honour requires that we settle this amicably with a spirited game."

"My thoughts exactly, Cousin," Matthew teased. "Now, as it seems to be two against one, and none of the neighbours is interested in playing, I shall need to find a partner."

Edith laughed and looked over at Mary.

Mary rolled her eyes.

"I seem to recall that you used to play, Lady Mary," he said formally. "I recall that you were quite good."

Mary elegantly rose from her chair. She met his warm gaze with a fiery stare.

"I was not just good, my Lord," Mary nodded. "I was the best and still am."

Edith laughed and got up from her chair. "I'll go and have the cards and the bell brought out. I shall warn you, Cousin, though I do love you, I shall not show you mercy."

"I shall not expect any," Matthew replied.

Mary arched her eyebrow at him when he turned to her. His blue eyes were bright and his smile wide. He was indeed full of spirit, just as Edith mentioned.

"What about it?" he asked.

She smiled politely, her chin raised as she took his arm.

"We're going to thrash them, of course. Just so long as you do what I say," she declared.

"You're the boss," he chuckled and escorted her over to where Anthony and Edith were waiting around a large card table.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary turned her head into the pillow, closing her eyes and pursing her lips to stifle the moan threatening to burst forth. She knew it was inevitable that she would let loose and allow Matthew to hear the proof of just what he was doing to her, but she held back for now. Over the past three weeks, she had given him more than enough confirmation of his prowess in bed. She had to try and keep his ego in check just a small bit, or at least make the attempt.

He smiled and looked up at her, past her flat stomach, her swollen breasts, up to her face contorted in pleasure. It was almost comical how she was trying to deny her arousal. Maybe in another time he would have been concerned, worried that he wasn't pleasing her as much as she deserved. Now, he merely took it as a challenge.

"Mmm," she whimpered, cringing at how easily his tongue melted her defences. His hands kept her thighs firmly spread, her legs dangling uselessly above his shoulders. She didn't need her eyes to know exactly what he was doing, or imagine the hungry look on his face. She had seen it so many times already. The look of a hunter, a predator, a man supremely confident in achieving his goal – her total and utter surrender. She had learned to love that look. It did not signal her defeat or that he would leave her bereft. It was a look born of love, and it meant she was in store for the most wonderful bliss.

It was a struggle for him to go slowly. Just the slightest hint of her scent and the smallest taste of her essence had him craving more. It was all the more addictive now that he knew she had never experienced this with anyone else. Though he didn't want to think about it, there was a certain logic to it. Pamuk and Carlisle were selfish, self-absorbed bastards. Why should either of them care for a woman's pleasure? He lapped at her leisurely, grinning as her hips bucked in reply.

"You know what I want to hear," he drawled, sliding his finger back inside. "You know what I want you to say."

She shook her head, eyes still closed, arms raised above her head. Somehow she kept quiet.

He chuckled darkly. "Very well. As you wish, my Lady."

"Matthew!" she cried, arching her back as he stabbed her with his tongue and curled his finger to some precise spot that only he seemed to be able to find. "Oh please! Please!"

Her hands moved through her hair and down her pale throat. Her fingers found her breasts, cupping them and teasing herself, as much for his pleasure as hers. She knew he was watching her and it made her moan all the louder, her hips moving against his mouth now, allowing him full access. Until this month, she never behaved so wantonly before. Until this month, she never begged and pleaded for such decadence. Until this month, she only made love to Matthew in her dreams, and it was never like this.

He pushed her legs back and titled her hips, opening her up at the most advantageous angle. His body tensed with anticipation, the sound of her voice moaning and cursing making him desperate to have her now. Ignoring that greedy urge, he quickened his pace, his mouth and fingers finding all the places he had committed to memory over the past three weeks.

"Matthew, Matthew," she chanted, sheer heat building within her. Her eyes shot open and she saw the ceiling of his bedroom just before her vision seemed to blur and all she heard was the shout of her own voice.

He breathed her in and tasted her, holding her down as she shook through her release. Slowly, he kissed his way up her body, lingering on her breasts before raising up to pin her wrists to either side of her head.

Her sight returned to normal even as her pulse and breathing did not. She looked up at him and gasped, feeling him tease her with his hips. She managed to lift her weak legs and wrap them over his thighs, drawing him in.

"Fuck me," she hissed, nodding eagerly. "Fuck me, Matthew."

They both groaned as they joined. The push and pull of his hips soon had him buried completely and he held himself there, their eyes drowning in each other, their harsh breaths sharing the same air.

He kissed her frantically and she moaned into his mouth, the weight and heat of his body washing over her and covering her completely. She moved her hips in time with his, not sure if she was chasing her release or his, but wanting more, more of this, more of him, more of the two of them together, living together, loving together, as they were always meant to be.

When she went over and he soon followed, she arched against him and revelled in the joy that she only knew with him. They lay there for several moments, resting and catching their breath, their bodies slick and warm. Soon they would move to the shower to rinse and hold each other again, the possibility of making love once more ever present. In their private sanctuary here at her ancestral home, time stood still, and everything was possible.

* * *

"I want to go to London."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him, his blue eyes dull in the darkness. "Hmm?"

"I want to go to London," he repeated, stroking her back. "I want to take you there."

She smiled in disbelief before composing herself when she saw that he was serious.

"Darling, I don't think that's wise," she said patiently. "I'm well known there. Both of us are. If we were spotted together."

"We won't be," he shook his head. "You can go and visit some of your friends, let them know that Carlisle is in India and that you've come into the city for a break. He won't suspect that we're there together. His spies will report to him and he'll assume that you ended your stay early."

She nodded in understanding. As they approached their last days together, she wondered what she would tell Richard when he returned. He never asked about what she got up to when she was with Henry or some of the other men he had her entertain, but this was Matthew. He would be curious, surely. If she was seen in London, she could maintain that she spent two weeks at Downton and came to the city after that before going back to Haxby at the end of the month.

"Our London home isn't open yet," she thought aloud. "There would be no servants watching over me, though I would need a place to stay."

He smiled. "Grantham House remains closed as well, but it's easy enough for me to get in. You can see your friends during the day while I take some meetings, and we can meet back in the evening, with everyone believing you've gone back to Yorkshire and no one expecting me to be around."

She smiled at the idea of sneaking around and being with Matthew right under the noses of Society.

"It's still a risk," she muttered.

"I know, but we don't have much time left," he admitted. "I want to have some memories of being in London with you to carry with me."

She sighed, reaching up and caressing his face. "This is a foolish idea, but all right. Even if we are discovered, it isn't as if Richard can complain that I was there with you since we're still within the month."

He grinned. "Your sentence has yet to be served in full, Lady Mary."

She laughed and leaned over to kiss him. "I am at your disposal, Lord Grantham."

"Now that is a dangerous prospect," he chuckled and pulled her in.

 **United Empire Club, West End, London, England, October 1921**

Matthew frowned as he reviewed the papers before him. He rubbed the side of his face with his hand, his eyes darting from one page to another. After several moments, he reached over and picked up a document, scanning it briefly, then set it down and resumed his appraisal.

"It appears what we have is a great deal of circumstantial evidence without anything particularly damning," he mumbled.

The man sitting across the table from him nodded.

"Hotel stays where according to witnesses he arrives and leaves on his own. Dinners at fancy restaurants but always amongst a group. Appearances at nightclubs and after-hours establishments but no corroboration that he was doing anything more than having a drink," Matthew muttered, shaking his head.

"This one's a slippery little devil," he man noted.

Matthew sighed and reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out an envelope and placed it on the table.

"As agreed," Matthew nodded. "Thank you for your effort."

The man smiled and took the envelope. He stowed it in his pocket and rose from the table.

"Lord Grantham," he bowed his head before turning and leaving.

Matthew reached for his Cognac snifter and took a long sip. He idly stacked the papers into a neat pile and set them aside. Staring at the forgettable painting on the wall, his mind churned as he savoured his drink.

"My Lord."

"Yes?" Matthew replied, looking up at one of the club hosts standing in the doorway.

"Mr Wakefield for you, my Lord," the host announced, stepping aside and letting the man through.

Matthew rose from his chair and shook hands with Wakefield. The soldier smiled and slapped Matthew on the arm before taking a seat at his table.

"Real posh place, Captain," Wakefield smiled, looking around the room in wonder. "Better than those coffee shops you usually bring me to."

Matthew smiled and shook his head. "I thought you deserved some pampering, Wakefield. Besides, it's important that we're seen here, for reasons that I will not explain."

"Yes, sir," Wakefield nodded.

The host came over and poured Wakefield's beer for him. Matthew waited for the host to leave them alone before he raised his snifter to Wakefield, who raised his mug in return.

"Who shall separate us?" Matthew nodded.

"Where Duty and Glory lead," Wakefield answered before taking a sip of his beer.

"Now," Matthew nodded, setting his Cognac down. "How much of your time have I wasted?"

Wakefield huffed. "Well, sir, the trail gone ran cold, as you know. I didn't think anything would turn up, but I did some more digging like you asked, and I found this."

He slid a folder across the table to Matthew. Matthew opened the folder and looked closely at a series of photographs contained inside. They were all young women dressed in nurse and maid uniforms, and it appeared that they all had dark hair and dark eyes.

"The names aren't important," Wakefield explained. "They were all nurses and servants in the employ of the Turkish Embassy here in London and the Pamuk household back in Istanbul. All of them retired quite young, and the story goes that they were paid quite handsomely to return to their homes."

Matthew frowned. "They were paid to stop working?"

"And to remain quiet, yes, sir," Wakefield nodded.

"Remain quiet about what?" Matthew asked.

Wakefield smiled. "About certain incidents involving a young diplomat, sir."

Matthew blinked.

"It seems that one of the housekeepers at the Turkish Embassy here kept a bunch of letters and diaries with her – all about what Mr Pamuk got up to both here and back home. I think it was to remind her superiors that she wasn't to be trifled with, that she had the dirt on one of their diplomats and she should stay in London instead of being shipped back home. Anyway, when the embassy was shut down after the War began, whatever was left over was held by the government. Nothing too important was in the boxes they took, but they did find her little stash," Wakefield advised.

Matthew's eyes widened in surprise. "There's written evidence that he assaulted these women?"

Wakefield nodded. "Just bits and pieces, sir, but it's clear enough. Took some doing to track it all down. I had to talk to a bunch of me mates who worked in Room 40. These papers here weren't considered classified. They had a good laugh about it and didn't give it another look."

Matthew frowned and sifted through the pages. The original letters were written in Turkish and the handwriting was faded. British Intelligence had the letters translated and the summaries were exactly what Wakefield said they were.

"The bastard had other victims,' Matthew mumbled. "Just as I thought."

"There's more, sir," Wakefield advised, turning the pages until he came to a stapled report. "Mr Pamuk wasn't just a diplomat, it seems."

Matthew skimmed over the report, his eyebrows rising.

"He was a spy, sir," Wakefield confirmed. "At least, that's what our side believes. After the War, his family lost everything."

Matthew's hand shook as he closed the folder. "Excellent work, Wakefield. Most excellent."

"I don't know how much help this does for you, sir," Wakefield shrugged. "Seemed he was a real menace, that one. You already knew that, though, didn't you?"

"I did, yes," Matthew nodded, smiling as he reached for his drink. "Now it will be much easier to prove it."

"But he's already dead, sir," Wakefield frowned in confusion. "What does it matter?"

Matthew tapped his fingers on the folder and swirled his drink around in the snifter. "It will be of great interest to a very important client of mine. Suffice it to say that this will help ensure that the late Mr Pamuk doesn't resurrect himself anytime soon."

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, October 1921**

Matthew locked the door behind him and strode purposefully through the foyer and down the hall. He smiled all the way back from the Club, eager to find Mary and share his most wonderful news. Ever since her marriage, and particularly following Robert's death, he guarded his hopes, never allowing himself to foster too much optimism. Managing the estate and maintaining his law practice occupied all of his time, and for many months, just staying afloat was all he cared about. Mother, Violet, Cora, and even Edith and Sybil would try and pick him up, encourage him to have some fun here and there, but he stayed devoted to his tasks. Robert had left Downton to him, and he could not fail in that duty.

Slowly, Downton recovered from the precarious position that Robert and his ancestors had left it in. Cora's money was squirrelled away, rather than continually depleted. The family investments were scaled back and put towards far more predictable and safe vehicles. Every part of life in Yorkshire was scrutinized and any and all unnecessary spending was cut.

There was pain. Much pain. The staff was reduced dramatically. Entire wings of the house were closed. Tenants were relocated. Failing Village businesses were shuttered. For a time he had to be ruthless and even brutal in his measures, which had won him the reputation of being some kind of beast, a grotesque combination of Scrooge and Quasimodo, counting his guineas and only leaving Downton to wreck more havoc on people's lives.

But he persevered, and the tide began to turn a year ago. Costs stabilized and were covered by the consistent returns from his investments. The house was modernized and upgraded. The farms were taken back and reorganized. New blood and new business came to the Village, and he paid for the expansion of the Grantham Arms and the post office. Slowly, people could see the improvements he brought. Slowly, his plans were bearing fruit.

And now this.

He went through the sitting room and crossed into the parlour, picturing the look of excitement and disbelief on Mary's face when he finally told her. If they weren't staying here in secret, he would have commissioned a photographer to come with him so he could capture that moment forever.

The moment he told her they could be together.

He stopped and blinked in surprise when he reached the library. Amusement filled his face as he took in the sight of his lady love sitting comfortably on the settee surrounded by shopping bags.

"You've been busy," he noted smirking as he came over to her.

"Just a few indulgences," Mary grinned, lifting her head and accepting his kiss. "I've had a rather good day."

"It would appear so," he noted, glancing around at her trove of purchases. "Are you holding a fashion show as part of one of your charities, or are you helping to clothe an entire debutante class?"

"Ha ha," she remarked sarcastically. "It isn't overly much. Besides, I wasn't referring to the shopping. This was just a bit of a reward."

"I see, and for what, exactly?" he asked, sitting down next to her.

She regaled him with the details of her day, explaining how she had several meetings regarding events she was planning for the upcoming Winter Season. There was the caterer that she managed to secure, beating out numerous other parties that were clamouring for the same services. She met with a banker and successfully negotiated a generous donation for one of her charity fundraisers. In the afternoon, she took tea at The Savoy with Lady Cunard, a friend who also had a neglectful husband. Though Mary didn't mention that she was staying with Matthew for the month, her friend was pleased she had a respite from Carlisle.

He noticed how bright and engaged she was as she talked. Despite her circumstances, she had carved out a fulfilling life for herself. It was obvious how much she enjoyed her standing in Society, her ability to use her name and reputation to broker deals and make power moves. Lady Mary Carlisle, the hostess and socialite, was quite happy.

As he watched her go on animatedly, he recalled her words to him from years ago about how women like her were stuck in a waiting room until they married. Though being Carlisle's wife and enduring his chauvinistic ways was a high price to pay, she was enjoying the benefits of having her scandal kept secret. Based on outward appearances alone, she wanted for nothing.

He pondered the new information that he had just discovered, the means to free her from Carlisle's hold. As invigorated as he was just moments ago, he had to admit that the road ahead would be difficult all the same. Her name would be sullied, perhaps beyond repair. These same people that she considered her friends would abandon her when Carlisle published. Matthew was confident that it would all pass eventually, but could Mary take being an outcast for a year or two?

Could she give up all of that just to be with him?

"What about you, darling?" she asked, smiling at him. "How was your day? How were your meetings?"

He looked at her and nodded. "They went even better than I hoped they would."

"So we both have reason to celebrate," she beamed.

"Yes, yes we do," he mumbled.

"Let's get to it, then," she laughed. "I must warn you, though. It has been ages since I last cooked anything of note besides scrambled eggs, so your plan for us to make our own dinner might end up in disaster."

"That's all right," he said, giving her an assuring smile. "It'll be fun."

"All right. I'm going to go and change first. I don't want to risk this blouse in the kitchen," she declared, rising to her feet.

He stood up and nodded. "I'll wait here for you."

She kissed him and left the library.

He watched her go before sitting back down slowly, a frown on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, October 1921**

Could she give up all of that just to be with him?

"What about you, darling?" she asked, smiling at him. "How was your day? How were your meetings?"

He looked at her and nodded. "They went even better than I hoped they would."

"So we both have reason to celebrate," she beamed.

"Yes, yes we do," he mumbled.

"Let's get to it, then," she laughed. "I must warn you, though. It has been ages since I last cooked anything of note besides scrambled eggs, so your plan for us to make our own dinner might end up in disaster."

"That's all right," he said, giving her an assuring smile. "It'll be fun."

"All right. I'm going to go and change first. I don't want to risk this blouse in the kitchen," she declared, rising to her feet.

He stood up and nodded. "I'll wait here for you."

She kissed him and left the library.

He watched her go before sitting back down slowly, a frown on his face.

 **Chapter 8:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, October 1921**

"Mmm, darling."

Matthew looked away from the window and glanced down at Mary lying against his chest. Her hand was resting on his stomach, one long leg stretched across both of his. He smiled and stroked her cheek with his fingers.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she mumbled, her eyes closed.

"How do you know I'm not asleep?" he asked.

"I know," she said lazily. "I can tell when you're asleep. You feel different."

"Do I?" he raised his eyebrow.

"Mmm hmm," she nodded. "You're not nearly as tense. What's the matter? What are you thinking about?"

"It's nothing," he shook his head.

"It's clearly something," she replied. "You were distracted all through dinner. Was it something from one of your meetings? You mentioned that they went well, I thought."

"They did go well," he confirmed. "It's not that."

"Then what?" she muttered. "I thought I wore you out tonight, but apparently I didn't."

He chuckled as she reached beneath the blankets and stroked him playfully.

"You were magnificent, darling," he assured her. "I'm quite sated."

"But not sated enough to go to sleep yet, apparently," she noted.

"I was just thinking that we only have seven days left together, that's all," he remarked.

She blinked and turned her head, pressing a light kiss to his shoulder. "That's true. I've tried not to dwell on it."

"I don't want to dwell on it either, and I haven't been, it just sort of crept up on me tonight," he said.

"Don't think of it as we're running out of time. See it as an opportunity for us to make this last week the best one yet," she said softly.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he admitted.

"Mmm, go to sleep, darling. We leave early tomorrow and we'll be back at Downton before you know it. Back to where we've made so many wonderful memories this month," she stated, kissing his skin again before settling against him.

"Very well. Good night. I love you," he whispered.

"Mmm, love you," she mumbled.

He glanced over at the window and frowned before closing his eyes and trying to fall asleep.

 **Saint Peter's Cathedral, Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, England, October 1921**

"Mary, I don't understand why we had to stop," Matthew grumbled, easing the AC along the town road. "We have more than enough petrol to make it to Leeds. This will set us back."

"I see your patience has not improved much at all now that you're the Earl," she teased, smiling at him and adjusting her dark sunglasses. "Darling, we have all day to get back to Downton. I just want to stretch my legs a bit and take a walk."

He frowned at her answer. "I was hoping we would be back in time for luncheon."

"An extra hour or two will hardly ruin anything," she assured him. "Here, stop and let's get out."

He pulled the car over to the kerb. The top was back up with the cooler weather of November drawing near, and he wanted to shield themselves from being seen. Getting out first, he circled around to open Mary's door for her.

"Ah, that's better," she smiled, taking his arm. "Come on."

He blinked at her gesture. "Mary, shouldn't we keep a safe distance from each other?"

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Darling, honestly, no one knows us here, and even if we were spotted, it's perfectly fine. I'm supposed to be with you, remember?"

He frowned but followed her as she led the way down the pavement towards the centre of town. Normally, taking a walk with Mary would have been a welcome pastime, but he was eager to return to the safety of Downton. Ever since meeting with Wakefield yesterday, his mind was jumbled. He had enough evidence now to at least mount a credible argument that Pamuk had taken advantage of Mary's youth and innocence, while also being a despicable character. If the only card that Carlisle had to play was to publish her scandal, he could counter that with a finely crafted tale of a Turkish spy who abused English hospitality in the most vile manner and was struck down for it. With Pamuk's family having fallen after the War, the Turkish authorities would not refute the story, and though Mary would still be implicated, he could portray her as the victim she was, rather than an unwed woman who had a man die in her bed.

It was hardly an ironclad defence, but it was something, a way for him to neuter Carlisle's leverage and give Mary the belief that she could divorce her husband and survive the damage.

His spirits were sky high last night when he returned to Grantham House. For longer than Mary knew, he had searched for a way to save her, and now he had it. Before he could share his news, though, a strange thing occurred. He saw the life Mary had, and the life he could offer her, and for the first time he questioned which one was better.

There was no doubt that in a perfect world Mary belonged with him, living at Downton Abbey as his wife and Countess, ruling over their kingdom, raising their children. Not only did he love her, but she had all the qualities and abilities that would see Downton prosper into the future and help him fulfil his duty to Robert and their family. Where he was reserved and awkward in company, Mary was sophisticated and brilliant. While he knew the mechanical steps of his plans and how much they would cost, Mary could see the impact upon the people who relied upon them, and how to ease the transition for everyone. It was ironic that it took him this long to understand what Robert had seen back in 1912 when he first arrived. He and Mary made a perfect match.

This was no perfect world, though, and he knew that better than most. This was a world where reputation and image were more valuable than discipline and hard work. This was a world where no matter how much good one did, all it took was a single mistake to undo it all. This was a world where a woman was still considered the property of her husband, even if the law said otherwise. In this world, Lady Mary Carlisle had a vaunted reputation and a spotless name so long as she stayed with her husband.

In this world, Lady Mary Crawley would be branded an adulteress and divorceé for the rest of her life if his plan was successful. In private, her life would be markedly better, but would the public shame be a burden she could bear?

"Matthew," she called. "Look."

He blinked and put his conflicted thoughts aside to glance up at her order. His eyes widened as he looked up at the three towering majestic arches of Saint Peter's Cathedral.

The sight stunned him into silence. He felt so small standing before such wonder.

"Come on, let's go in and have a look," she smiled.

He looked at her in confusion, trying to understand what she was saying. Eventually, his mind caught up to his ears and he smiled in understanding.

"You planned this, didn't you?" he asked.

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Planned this? Why would I do that? Do you have an interest in church architecture that I wasn't aware of?"

He laughed and headed for the ornate entrance. She released his arm and followed behind him, both of them growing quiet as they passed inside.

For the next hour they toured the impressive church, examining the many features, including the 12th century Norman architecture blended with 13th century Gothic, the unique decorated wooden ceiling of the nave, and the tomb of Katherine of Aragon. She listened attentively as he regaled her with facts from the pamphlet that she had already read herself. Years ago, Edith had taken him on an ill-fated church visit in an attempt to get closer to him. Mary deemed it beneath her and went out for the Hunt so she could spend time with Evelyn and his guest, a certain Turkish diplomat. If only she had chosen differently back then. How many times over the years had she wished that she had?

"Thank you, darling," he said softly, smiling to her as they headed back out. "I know that you did this for me, and I appreciate it, truly."

"It wasn't entirely for you. I don't mind church visits, so long as the church is worth visiting," she remarked. "Peterborough Cathedral is one of the most impressive."

"It is," he nodded. "I'm glad that we stopped in."

"And with any luck, we'll still make it back to Downton in plenty of time for dinner," she teased.

He laughed and stopped to take one last look at the imposing façade with statues of Saint Peter, Saint Paul and Saint Andrew placed impossibly high at the top of each of the three arches.

"I wonder what the workers thought all those centuries ago when they were about to build this church?" she mused. "Did they know they were about to create something so tall and large that would last for centuries later?"

"I can't say, but there's a bit of a message in that," he replied.

She looked at him curiously. "A message?"

He smiled at her. "Yes. That anything is possible with enough effort."

She smiled and looked back at the church.

They both noticed a wedding party walking up the path to the church. The happy couple were dressed for the rehearsal it seemed, as the bride was wearing her veil, but normal day clothes otherwise. They were holding hands, smiling and laughing, surrounded by friends and family as they passed inside.

"Ready to go?" Matthew asked, his eyes remaining on the door through which the betrothed had just entered, his brow furrowed.

"Ready," she confirmed, taking his arm.

He patted her hand and led the way back to the car.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary came downstairs, a nervous flutter in her chest. Ever since they came back from Peterborough, she felt a bit off. Matthew went to his study to deal with work matters and she spent an hour reading before she wandered the house for a bit, trying to relax. Even when she went up to change for dinner, she couldn't seem to calm herself fully. There was a nagging feeling that she couldn't shake, that something was amiss.

Of course, something was very amiss. Just as he said earlier, they were down to their final week together and that clouded everything. Still, she wasn't one to usually let the trials of the future affect her so profoundly. Living with Richard meant there was a potential disaster behind every corner. She had learned to embrace the moment. Thinking about her situation, or what other wrong could befall her didn't do her any good.

Her mind went back to London, recalling how he seemed just a bit off himself. Their attempt at cooking dinner was a bit of a calamity but turned out quite delicious in the end. Between throwing vegetables at each other, drinking far too much wine and becoming distracted with kissing, it was a wonder they didn't burn the chicken. Still, she caught him looking at her peculiarly during the evening, as though he was lost in thoughts that she could not decipher.

"My Lady," Carson bowed his head as she came into the parlour.

"Carson," she smiled. "Has His Lordship not come down yet?"

"He ought to be through shortly, my Lady," the butler replied. "He was late going up."

"I see," she nodded. "Very good."

She took her drink and went over to the window, looking out across the grounds. Evening was coming earlier now, and the moon was but a crescent, its glow dull and blunted by the clouds above. It seemed such a short time ago that she had watched Matthew run beneath a bright silver light, and yet so much had happened since. She sipped her drink and frowned, the sense of foreboding closing in.

"Sorry, I'm late."

She blinked and composed herself before turning to face him. Her mood lifted when she saw his smiling face, his blue eyes trained upon her and full of promise.

"I was just about to find another dinner companion, one who understands the value of being on time," she replied haughtily.

He smirked and offered her his arm. "I shall endeavour to make up for my tardiness with pleasant conversation."

"Just pleasant? Well, how can I refuse such a lofty incentive?" she teased, setting her drink down and slipping her gloved hand across his sleeve.

He smiled knowingly and led her through to the dining room.

* * *

"You don't have to sound so surprised," he chuckled, kissing her hand before releasing her to go over to the bar.

"I am surprised still to this day," she smiled, taking a seat on the sofa. "I never imagined you would play tennis, let alone so well."

"Why ever not?" he whinged, mixing their drinks. "If anything, it's you toffs who would be rubbish at the sport."

"How so?" she laughed. "We're the ones who play the most. It isn't as if you belonged to a racquet club in Manchester."

"No, but it wasn't hard to find a wall to hit against," he shrugged, bringing their drinks over to her. "When you grow up playing against weak competition, you're going to run into trouble when you encounter someone who knows what he's doing, and that's what happened on that fateful day all those years ago."

She took her drink and shook her head. "I still remember the look on poor Viscount Bellamy's face. You could have at least let him take a game or two."

"I would have if he wasn't ogling you the entire match," he replied, sitting down next to her.

She smirked. "I could tell you were jealous."

"I was not jealous," he complained. "If you had accepted his invitation, you would have been the one to suffer for it. I just wanted to show him that he was useless at tennis, that's all."

She laughed and rubbed his thigh. "So competitive, my darling."

"I could be when it came to you," he nodded. "Funny enough, I came across him during the War. He remembered that match quite vividly. He even apologized for his behaviour."

"Did he? You must have made quite the impression," she said.

"Apparently, and he mentioned that you rejected him quite conclusively when he invited you to visit him in London," he said, quirking his eyebrows at her.

"Well, what other choice did I have after such a horrible defeat? You know that I'm not one to settle," she stated.

They both blinked at her inadvertent comment and promptly distracted themselves by taking a drink.

She looked over to the fire, the nervous twinge returning. Dinner had been lovely and their banter when they came through was comfortable and easy, as always. Carson and the servants knew well to leave them alone by now, and it was nice to have Matthew to herself, but one slip of her tongue and reality was stalking them once again.

He frowned and looked up. "What's that?"

She arched her eyebrow at him. "What's what?"

"That sound," he muttered. "Don't you hear it?"

She looked in the same direction and listened. "No, I don't hear anything. It's probably just a footman doing his final rounds."

"No, it doesn't sound like that. Come on," he said, getting to his feet.

"What? Matthew," she looked up at him in confusion.

He took her drink and set it down next to his on the table. Taking her hand, he raised her to her feet and set off towards the door.

"I don't understand what you're hearing," she protested, following him reluctantly. "There's nothing there."

"It's something," he said quickly, not breaking stride. "Something over here."

He led her down the hall and into the small salon. She was so preoccupied with keeping up with him that she didn't notice that all of the furniture had been moved up against the walls, clearing a space in the middle of the room.

"Matthew, I don't hear anything! Are you sure that you didn't just…" she began, stopping short when he turned and smiled at her.

Bates and Anna were standing nearby, next to a table where Matthew's old Victrola was set up.

"What?" she mumbled, staring at the scene in bewilderment.

At a nod from Matthew, Bates carefully placed the needle on the record. The soft strains of a piano warbled from the large speaker. Bates and Anna bowed and curtsied to them before leaving the room. Mary watched them go before turning to Matthew with a puzzled expression on her face.

He smiled and raised his hands to her. "What about it?"

She stared at his hands for a moment before rolling her eyes and coming towards him. "Why not?"

He chuckled and took her into hold. The moment his hand slid across her back and she looked into his eyes, her annoyance melted. He turned her about to the music, though she didn't really hear or recognize the song. It was enough to be dancing with him, and she wondered why they hadn't over the past weeks.

"Do you remember the last time we danced?" he asked, his voice warm and soft in her ear.

"At my wedding," she nodded. "I asked you what took you so long to ask me."

"It seems that I always end up apologizing whenever I dance with you," he whispered.

She swallowed. "And I always tell you that you needn't bother, and you don't. You don't have to apologize for anything, Matthew. None of this is your fault."

"Even so, the regret is just as deep," he remarked.

She moved closer to him, far more than was proper for a waltz, but she didn't care. As he turned them about, she looked up at the portraits of all the past Earls looking down on them, stone faced and impassive. Her eyes came to Papa's placid face and she looked away, turning her head and pressing a soft kiss to Matthew's cheek.

"I love you, darling," she sniffed. "Always remember that. I wouldn't trade this past month for anything in the world."

He hugged her close, no longer moving to the music but standing and swaying with her back and forth.

"Darling, I may have a solution," he said slowly. "It isn't perfect, or entirely clean, but it's something."

The song ended as she pulled back from him and looked at him curiously.

"What? What do you mean?" she asked.

He sighed, keeping his arms around her. "I had someone look into Kemal Pamuk's past years ago when you first told me what happened. I don't know what I was looking for, exactly, but it was something about how you mentioned he told you it wasn't his first time that stuck with me."

She shivered despite his warm hands upon her. Recalling the man's vile words when he invaded her bedroom always filled her with dread.

"What did you find out?" she asked carefully, recalling Wakefield's report that she discovered in the attics.

"Initially, nothing," he shook his head. "With the War having just ended and Pamuk being dead for years, trying to get information proved difficult. However, I just recently learned that he had a history of assaulting women."

She cringed, her mouth falling open. "There were others?"

He nodded. "Mainly servants, likely because any victims of a higher class would have been loath to admit to anything. It's clear, though, that he was a predator. He enjoyed forcing himself upon women."

She gasped, closing her eyes as she tried to banish the memories that came flooding back. Matthew had told her it wasn't her fault when she confessed to him about the affair, but she thought he was only being gallant and kind. She kissed Kemal, and allowed him to strip her clothes off, held on to him as he had his way. One of the first things that Mama asked her that horrible night was whether Kemal had forced himself upon her and she shook her head no. How could she have been forced when she gave in and didn't put up a fight?

A sob escaped her pursed lips, the entire evening taking on a different colour looking back on it now. Up until this moment, she had always regretted the consequences of what happened that night more than the actual act. Kemal was rough with her and it had hurt terribly, but she never thought that what he did was assault. It wasn't as if Richard ever asked for her consent on those rare nights that he came to her bedroom. His mere appearance was the signal that she was to do her wifely duty to him, and she did without question. Even Henry never asked her for permission before he kissed her. He simply made his claim. That was what men did – they took what they wanted without asking. What man could resist a quivering virgin spread out before him vulnerable to be plundered?

 _'Won't it hurt? Is it safe?'_

 _'Trust me.'_

Matthew rubbed her back soothingly, waiting for her to calm, giving her time to compose herself.

Her eyes shot open and saw blue, his blue eyes filled with concern, and care, and love.

 _'I don't want just a week, just a month, just a year. I want the rest of our lives…'_

She gasped. Matthew would have stopped if she told him to. Matthew would have never even tried to take liberties with her without asking first. Matthew would never have come to her bedroom uninvited.

Matthew had won her for a month, had more of a claim to her than Henry did, or any other man that Richard had sent her to. Matthew could have demanded she be his slave from the first moment she set foot here.

But he didn't. He was willing to send her to London and forfeit the rest of their time together to save her reputation. He would have sacrificed the desires he had held for years all to make things easier for her when Richard returned.

"What does this have to do with us, though?" she asked quietly. "How does knowing about Mr Pamuk's past help us?"

He took a deep breath. "The reason that Carlisle believes he owns you is because of your scandal and his threat to publish should you try and leave him. He'll embellish the story to sell newspapers. He'll portray you as a…as a slut who knew exactly what she was doing. He'll make Pamuk appear as an unfortunate victim tempted by your charms and who died in a fit of passion."

She trembled but kept her eyes upon him, the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms keeping her upright.

"We can now show that Pamuk was a monster who preyed upon you. We can refute anything that Carlisle prints and change how you are viewed as a result of the incident. People can see that you were one of his many victims and that the world is no worse off for his death," he explained.

"But the divorce will still be public, and the scandal will still be published. You can't stop that," she stated.

He shook his head slowly. "We can try and negotiate with Carlisle. Make him see that punishing you will only hurt him in the end. However, yes, most likely your story will be out there and always will be. We'll make our best rebuttal but whether Society believes us or him, we can't know."

She swallowed tightly and looked down.

"I know it's not perfect," he stammered. "I wish it was. I wish there was something else, anything. I wish I could pay Carlisle to release you, I wish we could just run off together and start a new life somewhere else where no one knows us."

She looked up at him and smiled sadly. "You are truly the most wonderful man."

His face fell. "I just want you with me, Mary. I don't want to live without you."

A tear fell down her cheek and he wiped it away before she could. She pulled him in and kissed him, shutting her eyes and pouring herself into it, trying to fill him with so much of her love that he would always have a piece of her to keep with him.

"Can we go upstairs?" she asked. "I want to talk about this some more but I need to get off of my feet."

He blinked and nodded. Putting his arm around her shoulders, he led her out of the salon and back towards the Great Hall.

* * *

She rubbed her hands slowly, the cream having long disappeared into her skin. Matthew was sitting in bed waiting for her, and she kept her back turned, hoping the delay would give her strength. When she reached her bedroom, she contemplated making love to him before talking further. Being with him here always aroused her, and tonight, more than ever, they needed the distraction. As she prepared for bed and waited for his arrival, she accepted that sex would solve nothing. He could have her if he wanted, but she owed him more than her body now. After all these years, she owed him the truth.

When he came into her bedroom, she was sitting at her vanity. He didn't say anything, and neither did she. A mere smile and nod told him to wait for her and he removed his robe and got into her bed, her familiar perfume on the blankets and pillows comforting him. On the way over here he prepared his next argument, trying to find the words to assure her that everything would work out, that they could brave any storm together, so long as they remained united. He was willing to endure ridicule and gossip, even put up with snickering behind his back at parties and at the House of Lords if necessary. What other people thought didn't matter to him at all. What was the use of being respected and admired if he couldn't grow old with Mary?

She took a deep breath and finally rose from her chair to face him.

He gave her an encouraging smile and held his arm out to her. "Come here, my darling."

She removed her robe and came to him, taking her usual place against his chest and shoulder. She closed her eyes and breathed him in, the trepidation in her chest ever present, but tempered by the knowledge that she was finally doing the right thing.

He took her hand in his, smiling as he rubbed her empty ring finger.

"I want you to know that I love you for all you've done," she began, staring at their joined hands. "No one has ever fought for me the way you have. You believe in me when I don't even believe in myself sometimes, and to know that I have your love and support after everything that's happened gives me comfort."

"I didn't fight for you when it mattered, though," he frowned.

"Shh," she silenced him, looking up at his grim face. "Just listen, please."

He looked at her in surprise and nodded.

She sat up and kissed his hand before holding it in her lap.

"Your plan to fight back against Richard publishing is admirable," she nodded, pained to see the disappointment on his face. "You know that I would have a difficult time coping with being a social pariah at first, but with you by my side, I think that I could survive it. I see what you're building here, all the changes you've made, and I see a bright future for Downton. To share that with you, even if it meant I would lose my standing in Society, would be a wonderful life."

He nodded carefully.

"There are many things that I would regret – not being able to have a proper wedding with you in the Village Church, having people turn down our invitations, having to watch you put up with insults and endure horrid jokes at my expense. There would be times where I would wonder if it was all worth it, and we would fight over it, but none of that is why your plan won't work," she told him.

He frowned slightly.

She pursed her lips and forged ahead. "You see, what happened with Mr Pamuk isn't the only scandal that Richard is aware of, and it isn't the only story that binds me to him. The reason that I married him, the reason that I stay with him, isn't just to guard my secret. It's to save our family from ruin."

"What?" he blurted out. "What else is there?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "Richard paid Vera Bates to go through with the divorce at my request. There were grounds to question whether they were colluding or not, and Richard made sure she played her part. I owe him for that."

"So I'll just pay him back. He can't have the divorce reversed now. Besides, he's implicated as much as anyone," he frowned.

"It's not a question of money. I only raise it to show you that he has his hooks into us for more than just what happened with Mr Pamuk," she stated.

He nodded slowly. "That's unfortunate, Mary, but it's not something that dooms you to stay with him. Everyone has secrets. Anna and Bates would be happy together even if they weren't officially married. That knowledge holds no power for Carlisle."

"Perhaps, but there are worse things than that which he knows of," she muttered.

He frowned. "Such as?"

She took a deep breath. "I suppose a decent place to start is to tell you that we aren't, in fact, cousins."

His eyes opened wide. "How is that possible? We're not closely related, clearly, but we still have common ancestors."

She shook her head. "No, we don't. The worst secret that Richard knows all too well is that Papa was not the son of the Sixth Earl. He was illegitimate."

He gasped, words entirely lost to him.

She squeezed his hand.

He stared at her, urging her to continue.

"Granny had an affair with a Russian nobleman early on in her marriage," she revealed. "She even considered running away with him and leaving both of their spouses behind. His wife discovered them and under threat of exposing them both, had him send Granny away. She left and never saw him again, but the affair was not without consequences."

"Your father," he mumbled.

She nodded. "She passed off Papa as her husband's son, telling him that he was born early, and he believed her, even though she was well aware that the timing meant that it was impossible. Aunt Rosamund was born a few years later, which was really an attempt by Granny to have a true male heir to Downton. The relationship broke down into passive tolerance shortly afterwards and they never had any more children."

He frowned, trying to keep up. "How did Carlisle learn about any of this?"

She rolled her eyes. "In a moment of madness, Granny wrote to her lover, telling him about Papa's birth. I don't know what she expected to happen, but she never received a response. The years went by and Papa married Mama and became the Seventh Earl. Granny expected to take her secret to her grave."

"But Carlisle found the letter somehow," he guessed.

She nodded bitterly. "His calculating nature knew no bounds even back when I first met him. He looked into our family so he could ingratiate himself to me, prove that he was a gentleman even though he wasn't noble born. But soon he saw it as an opportunity to use our past against us, and he became more obsessed with finding something, anything that could give him power over us."

"Surely it wasn't so easy for him to discover the affair," he scoffed.

She nodded somberly. "It seems that Granny's former lady's maid struck up a friendship with the maid of her lover's wife. The two of them corresponded even after the affair ended. Richard found her and paid her to divulge whatever she knew, which she was only too willing to do. She didn't leave Granny's employ on very good terms."

"Apparently," he frowned.

"Granny's letter was intercepted by her lover's wife. She told her maid to burn it, but obviously, the woman kept it and sent it to her friend. I don't think she realized just how dangerous the message was, but one glance and Richard knew everything," she stated.

"My God," he muttered.

"Even now I can't believe it really," she shook her head. "But the fact is that I'm not a Crawley after all. None of us is."

"But I don't understand," he protested. "Remove Robert from the line of succession and the Earldom would have passed to James, and eventually to me under the same circumstances. Nothing would have changed."

She shook her head. "You would still have the title, yes. But you're forgetting that Downton only stands today because of Mama's money. She pledged her family fortune in return for being in line to become Countess of Grantham. We know now that she never properly had that title. She married the bastard son of a Countess, which is to say she married no one at all as far as Society is concerned."

"But what's done is done. Robert died and the title has passed," he said. "It serves Carlisle no purpose to expose Cousin Violet's secret now."

"But it did when he proposed to me, when Papa was still alive," she replied. "You don't know them very well, but Mama's side of the family is quite disagreeable. Grandmamma never wanted her husband's money to stay with us forever. She only agreed because Mama would have a title and a grand lifestyle. If she ever learned that none of that in fact happened, she would move Heaven and Hell to take her money back."

"Cora doesn't know?" he questioned.

She shook her head. "Richard told Granny first, and she told Papa. The both of them then told me. Mama, Edith, Sybil, no one else knows. They're all settled now, and Edith has a title of her own, but back when Richard threatened to publish, none of us was married, and he held all of our futures in his hands."

He felt a throbbing pain behind his eyes as it all sunk in. "And I was still engaged to Lavinia, which meant I was of no help. Cousin Violet didn't even try coming to me."

She reached up and framed his face with her hands, drawing his eyes to her.

"There was nothing you could have done," she shook her head. "If you were even available at the time, even if we had married back before the War when we were supposed to, you would have been brought down with the rest of us. Had we somehow convinced Grandmamma to let us keep the money, the story itself would have been fatal once it was published. I hate to think about it, but I believe learning the truth eventually cost Papa his life. The man he thought he was actually never existed, and it destroyed him."

He took her hands in his and kissed them.

She smiled sadly. "So you see, my darling, none of this is your fault. It never was. I couldn't let him ruin us. I couldn't let him destroy Granny's name, or ruin Edith's prospects, or have Papa live out the rest of his days in humiliation. I couldn't let him leave you a penniless Earl. I had to accept him. I had no other choice."

"Oh, Mary," he sighed, squeezing her hands.

"Being Lady Mary Carlisle, on the whole, isn't so bad," she shrugged. "I was never a proper English Lady to begin with. I have my title thanks to Richard, strangely enough. As for the rest of it, well, I'm not the first wife to have to put up with her husband's peculiarities."

"What can I do?" he pleaded. "I…I can't…"

"You're already doing it," she nodded. "You've given me more than I ever imagined possible. You've shown me that you still love me, that our love still lives despite everything. I thought that by accepting Richard that I had lost you forever, but this month, Matthew, this month has been beyond my wildest dreams."

He brought her to him and hugged her tight, the tears falling down his cheeks. He felt her crying against his chest and he didn't stop her.

"We must be strong," she mumbled, lifting her head and wiping her tears. "We can't afford to waste another second. I want to make love to you every day and night that we have left. I want to feel you in my very soul so that you'll always be a part of me. No more tears, darling. We don't have time or use for them."

He held her tight and sobbed into her shoulder. Inhaling her scent, he drew back and kissed her fiercely, running his hands through her hair as she responded eagerly. He forced himself to ignore all that she had just told him and all the despair he felt. When her hands slipped down to tug at his pyjamas, he helped her, every ounce of him focused on loving her until they were both spent.

* * *

"Where are we going?" she asked yet again, smiling at Matthew as he led her down one hall after another. They were in an unused wing of the house, one that had been closed for some time now. She didn't know exactly what was down here, the rooms having been shuttered for years, and she was curious as to where he was leading her.

"Almost there," he promised, squeezing her hand.

She arched her eyebrow at him. She couldn't begin to understand what he was up to. It wasn't that she minded being in a secluded area of the house with him, but there was nothing to do.

Maybe not exactly nothing, she smirked.

After making love desperately last night, he stayed with her until morning, not leaving her side until she shooed him away so she could ring for Anna. Though telling him Granny's secret meant dashing his hopes of them ever being together, finally letting him know was a relief as well. There was nothing he didn't know now, and still he stuck by her. Both of them resolved to be cheerful today, to not even think about all that they now knew, or the impact on the future. They had six days left, and they would live them as though they were their last.

After breakfast, they went for a walk to the hunting lodge. She worried about how he might react seeing Papa's portrait when he now knew the truth, but he was the same Matthew. He made them tea in the kitchen, which was most welcome after their brisk stroll. Once they were sorted, she led him upstairs and brought him to one of the other bedrooms so she could please him with her mouth and hands. He didn't even offer token resistance this time, the urgency of their last week leaving propriety behind.

Once they composed themselves, they began the trek back to the house. She would miss taking walks with him, arm-in-arm across their lands like the couple they were meant to be. They spoke about the renovations to the farms and his plans for bringing in the first herd of pigs. He mentioned that he would likely be in London when Mama returned so they could host a holiday party. Nothing was said about the fact that Mary would likely not attend, and he was probably not going to be invited to hers. All the same, they were smiling and laughing when they returned to Downton. After changing out of their outdoor clothes, he met her in the upstairs gallery and told her he had something to show her, and promptly got them lost.

"Here we are," he announced, bringing her to a set of closed double doors that she had never seen before.

She waited for him to open the door, then stepped inside first. Her eyes widened as she came into what may have once been a parlour or sitting room, but was now bare. The walls were a neutral white, the floor covered in large sheets. Spread out across the room were easels, upon which several covered large canvases were mounted.

"What is this?" she asked.

"I thought we'd have some fun," he nodded, taking her by the hand and leading her over to a table. Set out upon it were large paintbrushes and containers of paint. She saw red, blue, black and yellow.

"Are we having an art class?" she asked, arching her eyebrow at him.

"Sort of, yes," he replied mysteriously. "Here."

He held up a smock and a strange set of goggles and handed them to her.

"Why do I need these?" she asked, looking at the items warily.

"Just in case a stray drop should land on your lovely blouse," he stated. "Just put them on."

She frowned before holding her arms out and letting him sweep the smock over her front and tie it at the back. Not wanting him to disturb her hair, she took the goggles and put them on herself.

"I feel ridiculous," she grumbled.

"Well, then we're both ridiculous," he shrugged, putting on his own smock and goggles.

He handed her the red paint and a brush and led her over to the nearest canvas.

"What shall we paint?" she asked.

"I'm certain you'll be inspired," he replied before lifting the sheet.

She laughed as mounted on the canvas was a large poster of Matthew's face.

"Goodness, this one needs quite a lot of work," she teased.

He gave her a wry smile. "Have at it, then."

She looked at him suspiciously before dipping her paint brush in the red. Smirking to herself, she gave him a red goatee, angry looking pointed eyebrows and devil horns.

"You do think me a handsome devil, I suppose," he noted.

She laughed and watched as he added a yellow halo to his portrait.

"Oh, I don't know about that," she objected. "Saint and devil? That doesn't sound like you."

"We all have different sides, don't we?" he chuckled, taking one last look at their handiwork before leading her on to the next canvas.

"This will be me, won't it?" she guessed.

"Not exactly, no," he shook his head and swept the sheet off the second canvas.

She laughed and shook her head. The huge photo was of Henry this time.

"You've gone to some effort," she noted.

"I may have picked up a few extra things when we were in London," he joked, coming up behind her and taking hold of her hips.

"Is this a new painting technique?" she asked innocently, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Being steady and stable on your feet is important for getting your brush strokes just right," he answered, holding her close from behind. "Now, go on."

She considered Henry's face for a moment before fetching more red paint. She added a bit of a moustache and beard.

"That's all? You're being kind, aren't you?" he frowned.

"There isn't much I want to change. Henry is quite handsome," she remarked, looking at the portrait.

He scoffed. "Really?"

"Do you not think so?" she teased, smiling at him.

"No, he's quite the handsome fellow," he nodded. "I think there are some things we could change, though.

He coloured his eyes yellow and splashed a large yellow cloud over his head.

"What's all that?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious? His ego threatening to burst out of his head," he sniped.

She laughed and turned to kiss him. "There's no need to be jealous. You're far ahead of him."

"Just the same, I hated how he put his hands on you that night," he frowned.

She arched her eyebrow. "As opposed to what you're doing right now?"

"Well, my touch is more welcome, isn't it?" he asked, squeezing her hips and looking at her carefully.

She grinned and kissed him again. "Much more welcome."

They went through the rest of the canvases, growing more and more juvenile and ridiculous with each one. Aunt Rosamund received a crooked crown and fiery red eyes. Miss O'Brien was turned into a ghastly woman with missing teeth and a disapproving scowl. By the time they reached Granny's portrait, they were just throwing paint at the canvas and laughing with glee. It felt so good to act so childishly. All the pressure and weight of the secrets she carried and the obligations and duty he had to follow melted away and it was as though they were young again, having a spirited battle at the Coconut Saloon, decorating the Christmas tree, or dancing together in London. It was just the two of them, untouchable and unbreakable.

She couldn't deface Richard's image fast enough, almost dumping her entire container of red over her husband's ugly pout and launching into him with sharp brush strokes. Matthew added streaks to his hair that had her cackling uproariously.

"It is thinning by the day," she giggled. "It must be all the pomade. He does tend to overdo it."

"Or his black soul is making it wither and fall out," he added, making her laugh even more.

She shook her head and kept laughing as he led her to the last covered canvas.

"Who's this one?" she questioned. "Oh, please darling, say it's Edith."

He laughed. "Wrong again."

He lifted the cover and she stared at her own face smiling back at her.

"Well, I can think of many people who would love to get a piece of her," she nodded. The photo was an old one, from before she was married. It was taken during the War, though she couldn't remember when she ever had time to sit for a picture during that frenetic time. Though she already would have been engaged to Richard by this point and already would have known about her family's wretched past, the woman in the photo didn't seem broken or bitter. She was staring at the camera, chin raised, eyes sharp, strong and proud.

Her hand shook as she dipped her brush into the paint. "She needs to be taken down a few notches, I think. I'm not nearly as flawless as that."

He reached up and stilled her hand, taking the paint and brush away from her and setting it aside. Pulling her back against him, he kissed her cheek and circled his hands around her waist.

"Do you know what I think? I think she looks perfect," he declared.

She frowned. "Oh, Matthew. You don't mean that."

"I do," he nodded. "I don't care where she's from, what her true lineage is, even what other people may say about her. I know her. I know the real you. You're perfect to me, brave, loyal, caring, and brilliant. I will always love you because you're mine to love, and no one can ever change that or convince me otherwise."

She covered his hands with hers and turned her head, closing her eyes and kissing him deeply.

"I just wish that somehow I could be your Mary for all eternity, and not Richard's version or anyone else's," she whispered against his lips.

He reached his hand up and covered her heart. "You are my Mary. You always will be where it counts. In here. You have more courage and selflessness than anyone ever gives you credit for, and I will never stop fighting for you. I'll find a way, Mary. I swear it."

She sighed and leaned into him, their foreheads touching. Her mind urged her to tell him to move on, that he needed to find a wife and sire an heir and get on with his life. She had six more days to have that conversation with him, though, so, for now, she just let him hold her and let his love shield her from the cruel world that was waiting to swallow her back up at the end of the week.

* * *

"All right, next?" she asked, watching him carefully as he handed her another drink and sat back down next to her on the sofa.

He frowned, looking into the fire in thought. "Well, next would be the incident with Sir Anthony, wouldn't it?

She rolled her eyes. "Bother. I hoped we would avoid that one."

"It makes no difference to me. It's long in the past," he shrugged.

She smiled. "No, I don't want to gloss over anything. I'm just embarrassed by my behaviour that night, even now all these years later."

"So you do see what a mess that was?" he said, watching her pointedly.

"I did apologize for being rude," she remarked.

"I was far too angry by then," he stated.

She shook her head. "I know. I regretted the entire thing the moment I saw you walking away."

"What do you think would have happened had I stayed?" he asked.

"Or if I never made that bet with Edith, to begin with?" she smiled.

"Yes," he nodded. "Were you looking forward to seeing me? Even a little?"

She blushed and looked down at her drink. "More than a little. I was quite surprised when you flirted with me at the flower show. I was intrigued to see if you would follow up at dinner and you did. I think we would have had a pleasant time when you came through."

"Just pleasant? It seems I left quite the impression," he joked.

She laughed. "You did. I wouldn't apologize to just anyone, you know."

He smiled and took a sip of his Cognac.

"When you proposed to me, did you ever get ahead of yourself?" she enquired, arching her eyebrow at him. "Were you always content to wait for my answer, or did you dare hope for more?"

He smirked. "What do you think?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm asking you," she retorted.

He nodded. "The night that I proposed to you, I wasn't planning on doing it. I didn't plan to kiss you or even spend much time with you after seeing Sybil home. I lingered to hear that she was all right, and also I hoped to be able to say good night to you, but that was all. When I found myself in the dining room with just you and you alone, well, I was quite pleased with how the night had turned out, Sybil's injury notwithstanding."

She smiled. "As was I. I wasn't expecting you to propose, and I didn't actually have to sit with you while you had your sandwiches, but I was glad when Papa suggested it. The kiss…well, you surprised me."

"How so?" he chuckled. "You were shocked that I knew how to kiss a woman?"

"Not exactly. I was surprised that it felt so different. It felt unlike any other kiss I'd had," she admitted.

"And when we kissed the night of Sybil's Ball?" he probed.

She laughed. "That was quite good, yes. I believe that the anticipation and secret nature of what we were doing contributed to that."

He nodded. "It most certainly did."

They both smiled.

"Come here," he beckoned.

She pursed her lips and looked at him for a moment before setting her glass down and removing her shoes. Tucking her legs beneath her dress, she moved over and came into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder as he leaned back and held her to him.

"This was what I used to dream of," he said softly. "After I proposed, I imagined what it would be like if we were married. I pictured all sorts of things, but I thought of us lying just like this at the end of each day, just relaxing together."

"Mmm, that sounds lovely," she agreed. "I remember thinking once that it was terribly common for Mama and Papa to sleep in the same bed each night. After you proposed I began questioning that belief, along with several others."

"Such as whether you could be happy with a middle-class solicitor?" he teased.

"Yes, and whether or not I could ever be happy at all after what happened with Mr Pamuk," she whispered.

He kissed the top of her head. "And are you? Happy?"

She moved on top of him, sitting on his lap. "I've never been happier."

He smiled and drew her down for a kiss. She kissed him back, her tongue meeting his in a gesture that had become so normal for them now.

"Darling, do you remember when you had me in the dining room?" she asked between kisses.

"Yes," he growled, his hands caressing her back.

"I want you to take me here," she purred. "So you'll remember it every time you come into this room."

He kissed her in the way that she learned meant his ardour was reaching a feverish pitch. "Darling, I'll always remember every second we had together. I can't even fathom this place without you in it."

"Show me, then," she whispered.

He kept kissing her as his fingers reached up and found the hidden buttons along the back of her dress. He loosened the bodice enough to slide the thin straps off her shoulders and down her arms, his lips searing her skin as he exposed more and more of her. She pushed the dress down to her waist and clutched his shoulders as he lavished her breasts.

"Matthew," she sighed, her head falling back, her arousal mounting with every kiss and touch of his tongue.

She stopped him just before she went delirious with need and pushed him back down. Staring at him with smoky eyes, she bunched her dress together before brazenly lifting it over her head and discarding it to the floor. Left in just her lacy knickers, she quickly undid his shirt. He helped her by removing his jacket.

"Mary," he groaned, his eyes closing as she kissed her way down his chest and across his stomach, sliding his shirt off before she reached his trousers.

He watched her deftly remove the rest of his clothes and raise up to take off her undergarments. She came to him and for a while they kissed leisurely, lying naked together, skin against skin, knowing full well they had the rest of the night to explore wherever their desires took them. He never imagined he would make love to her in the drawing room, only dreamed of doing some of the things they had tried over the past month. In the moment, he couldn't care about what was appropriate, or that he was having another man's wife. The two of them together, Mary and Matthew, had a bond that was stronger than all that conspired to keep them apart.

"What do you want? Tell me," she ordered, sitting back up and shifting her hips back and forth against him.

"God, Mary," he snarled. "I love you."

She nodded, smiling smugly down at him. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want you," he gritted his teeth as she reached between them and took hold of him.

"Not good enough," she gasped, stroking him against her.

"I want to fuck you," he snarled, leering up at her and taking hold of her hips.

She arched her back, one hand fondling her breast while the other brought him ever closer. Her eyes stayed on his, her lips parting in a moan as she eased herself down upon him.

"Fuck, yes," he called, watching her eyelids flutter when he thrust up into her.

She steadied herself with one hand on his chest, keeping still as he filled her. After several moments, she raised up and lowered herself slowly back down, watching him as his hands guided her every plunge. Their pace built, the two of them duelling for control as she rode him, the room filling with the sound of their harsh voices and the rhythm of their bodies coming together.

"Look up," he ordered. "Look up, my darling."

She lifted her head and gasped as she saw her reflection in the large mirror across the room. Her naked body writhed above him, the sight of her taking him over and over thrilling and depraved. For so many years she'd come through to this very room after dinner, even standing with Richard whenever he visited during their engagement and gabbing on about some useless topic. Now she was here making love to a man who wasn't her husband, a man she loved more than any other, in a home she could never have but that would still always be hers. Nothing could ease the pain of their parting, but this was another memory in a series of them that would comfort her for the rest of her life.

"I love it," she told herself. "I love watching you fuck me!"

She watched as she fell apart, a blissful groan leaving her lips while her eyes rolled back. A surprised yelp flew from her mouth as he somehow sat up and swung her around before standing up to his feet. Her arms and legs grabbed hold of him as she shook through her release. She buried her head in his shoulder, not sure of what he was doing and just hanging on as he moved.

He set her down, her breathing ragged as she fought for balance. She stumbled a bit when he turned her around, and her eyes widened when she saw them standing before the mirror, his blue eyes seeming to glow with glee at what he was about to do to her.

"Matthew!" she groaned, unable to resist as he drew her arms behind her back and bent her forward. She swayed in his hold, shouting out when he took her again, his hips driving forward until they pressed delightfully against her bottom.

The wicked scene played out before her eyes, her mind awash with lewd thoughts as he had his way with her. The all-powerful Earl of Grantham taking his pleasure from her body, using her as he saw fit, submitting her to his will after having won her in a poker match.

Yet just as quickly as the dark fantasy made her quiver, he released her hands and put his arms around her, drawing her back against his chest, caressing her breasts lovingly as his hips never broke their cadence. Her one hand covered his across her breast, while her other reached up and held the back of his neck, drawing her to him. This was her Matthew, the man she loved, the man who wanted her despite all the reasons that he shouldn't. This was passion and hunger, but not to satisfy his ego or confirm his conquest. As he pushed her closer to another release, she turned her head and watched him kiss her softly, everything she could ever need to know flooding her senses. He would always love her, no matter what became of them, and this was another memory to hold as proof that their love existed unfettered and unstoppable if only for a brief time.

"I want to feel you," she mumbled, a shiver coursing through her as she watched herself say the words. "Claim me. Make me yours."

She went over just as he did, their bodies taut and frozen in a moment of ecstasy. The warmth of him spread through her and she smiled, resting against him as she shook, no one and nothing else able to get through the haze in her mind that knew only him.

* * *

"What was the total pot at the end of the game?" she asked lightly.

"Hmm?" he muttered, swallowing as he struggled to hear her.

She smiled and kissed his chest before looking up at him. "The final hand in the poker match. Richard bet a weekend with me, but how much did you and Tony bet to match?"

He blinked and opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling of his bedroom as he thought back to the fateful night.

"I believe that by the end of it, Tony was up somewhere around 2,000, and Carlisle only had 1,700 or so. I was closer to 1,000," he noted.

She blinked. "2,000? One could buy a fairly large house in London for that much."

"It was far more than I was prepared to risk, to be certain," he agreed. "I only played that final hand because I had the best cards of the night."

"And Richard and Tony valued a weekend with me at 300 pounds? I suppose they think that a compliment," she frowned. "How did you match that?"

"I offered up the swath of property next to Haxby," he replied. "I knew that Carlisle wouldn't be able to resist."

She gasped and looked at him in shock. "What? You risked part of your lands?"

"I would have bet the entire estate," he answered. "You're worth more to me than all of it and more."

She kissed him softly. "You think far too highly of me. You're the Earl now. You have responsibilities and so many people who depend on you to make wise decisions. There will be other women, other priorities that are far more important than…"

"Not more than you. Never more than you," he declared firmly. "No matter what becomes of us, no matter who we end up with, no matter what anyone else says…you'll live your life, and I'll live mine, but they will always pale in comparison to the life we could have had together."

She looked at him despondently, so sad and yet so happy. All her life she had been taught to be practical and deliberate and Matthew was one of the most careful men she knew. Her family secrets had doomed them and she knew that for years, and yet they were recklessly carrying on, determined to see out each glorious second until their time was ended. For all the words used to describe Lady Mary Carlisle, defiant was not one of them. Yet, here she was, in Matthew's bed, holding her ground at last.

"The most beautiful life I'll ever know, my darling," she nodded, kissing him again.

A peal of uninhibited laughter flew to the ceiling as he turned her on to her back and she spread her legs eagerly for him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"I would have bet the entire estate," he answered. "You're worth more to me than all of it and more."

She kissed him softly. "You think far too highly of me. You're the Earl now. You have responsibilities and so many people who depend upon you to make wise decisions. There will be other women, other priorities that are far more important than…"

"Not more than you. Never more than you," he declared firmly. "No matter what becomes of us, no matter who we end up with, no matter what anyone else says…you'll live your life, and I'll live mine, but they will always pale in comparison to the life we could have had together."

She looked at him despondently, so sad and yet so happy. All her life she had been taught to be practical and deliberate, and Matthew was one of the most careful men she knew. Her family secrets had doomed them and she knew that for years, and yet they were recklessly carrying on, determined to see out each glorious second until their time was ended. For all the words used to describe Lady Mary Carlisle, defiant was not one of them. Yet, here she was, in Matthew's bed, holding her ground at last.

"The most beautiful life I'll ever know, my darling," she nodded, kissing him again.

A peal of uninhibited laughter flew to the ceiling as he turned her on to her back and she spread her legs eagerly for him.

 **Chapter 9:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew?"

He blinked and glanced over at Mary sitting proudly in the saddle. Her cheeks were flushed from their last gallop, a quick sprint across the slight rise and down along the creek bed. The ground here was soft and wet, a fence stopping anyone from venturing too far into the muck and directing the path more gradually over to the bridge that crossed to solid land.

"Yes, darling?" he replied, focusing on her.

She smirked and nodded towards the creek. "I asked you which way you plan on taking me?"

He swallowed at her seemingly innocent question that raised thoughts within him that were anything but. He had seen her ride numerous times before, and even though her beloved Diamond was at Haxby now, she took to Valiant as if she had known him for years. An easy pat on his neck, a whisper in his ear, or a sharp sting of her crop to his hindquarters and the black stallion fell into line. Her ease on the horse didn't surprise Matthew at all. It was more her new riding position that he found shocking.

While he was not nearly the rider that she was, neither was he as incompetent as she assumed. He took a few patrols with the cavalry during the War, and after Mary left and her sisters soon followed, he found himself with leagues of property and no one to help him explore it. So, he went out each day, reliable Big Ben as his mount, and spent hours learning his lands.

Often when he was out here by himself, he would think back to the times he'd seen Mary ride, from that first meeting when she dismissed him so thoroughly before leaving with Lynch, to the numerous hunts and sprints across the fields that they both partook in. She always sat side-saddle, her long skirt hiding her legs, the reins held tight in her gloved hands.

But not today.

When she mounted Valiant, she swung a leg over and adjusted her position, finally settling on a spot a bit forward in the saddle. Matthew didn't say anything, but as he climbed aboard Big Ben, he couldn't help but notice that Mary was sitting astride her horse, her legs parted, knees bent and feet comfortably in the stirrups. They left the stables at a light trot, and seeing her sitting up on her horse conjured numerous improper thoughts that he tried with great effort to supress. It was bad enough that her jodhpurs framed her bottom and legs far more tightly than any riding dress ever did, but her form in the saddle was completely distracting.

Over the past month, he had been able to maintain some semblance of decorum when they were out in public or in the presence of Carson and the servants. He was no longer the young man who arrived at Crawley House with his mother, speaking of Robert 'throwing one of the daughters' at him and so easily stunned by her beauty. But out here where it was just the two of them, one glance at her coloured cheeks, her smiling lips, her playful eyes, and now her tightly-clad hips and arse sent his imagination running rampant.

"I suppose we should cross the bridge," he said finally, looking anywhere but at her. "Though, I expect you aren't one for going 'round the road, so jumping the fence would suit you more, wouldn't it?"

He dared to take her in again, his bright eyes and teasing smile betraying the lurid thoughts that came back full-force. The way she was crouched on her mount resembled the same way she was straddled upon him mere hours ago in his bed, and he was losing the battle to chase that vision away.

Her smile at his flirting waned when she looked over at the fence, her chest tightening as she recalled another time that she was tempted to take a similar leap. She was so full of confidence back then, or stupid arrogance, more accurately. Kemal had offered her the bait and she had taken it whole. Evelyn was waiting for her from the safety of the other side, having crossed the bridge prudently and properly. Kemal challenged her to be reckless, to give into the excitement and danger of taking a shortcut and jumping the fence with him. It was hardly a difficult pass, and Diamond took it easily, but looking back in hindsight, the challenge of the jump wasn't the point at all. Kemal wanted to know whether, if given the choice, she would do the proper thing, or dare to be wild. She had followed where he led her, not a clue as to what she was revealing to him about how naïve she was and how he could exploit her. Though Matthew tried to reassure her that she did nothing to lead the man on, that he was a monster and should never have even come to her that night, she couldn't help but think back to the way she behaved that day and night and wonder how different it all could have played out had she only been more wise.

"Mary?"

She blinked and looked back at Matthew, his warm smile still upon her, but a hint of concern was now in his blue eyes.

"There's no need to show off," she shrugged. "The bridge will do. Besides, I wouldn't want you to hurt your horse trying to clear the fence."

He looked at her curiously before nodding his head. "Very well. Lead on."

She smiled, a wave of relief washing over her. Tugging on Valiant's reins lightly, she spurred the horse forward into a smooth gait and quickly came round the bend and up across the old bridge.

"You're better than I expected, my Lord," she joked when Matthew caught up to her, the two horses falling into step. "It seems you've improved in the past years."

"Are we speaking about my horsemanship or something else?" he shot back.

She smiled. "On numerous fronts. It's fair to say that you've surprised me quite often over this past month."

He nodded and looked at her slyly. "That's a rather stunning testimonial coming from you. You're not so easily impressed."

"No, I'm certainly not," she replied.

He chuckled and looked out across the fields.

"Edith mentioned to me how you'd changed," she continued, watching him carefully. "She said that it took you longer than the rest of us to come back to yourself after Papa died, but that you emerged a new man."

He kept staring across the grounds. "She said that, did she?"

She nodded. "She did. She said that you have taken an interest in how she's doing, and how Sybil is keeping over in Ireland with Tom. I've seen myself how you've taken on your responsibilities here so very seriously. I suppose I'm wondering why."

"Is it really so surprising?" he asked, pursing his lips and looking to the horizon.

"I didn't think you would ignore your duties, no," she shook her head. "But I can understand how difficult it must have been for you these past few years."

He finally looked over at her, his face steeled but his eyes were still soft. "It's been difficult for all of us, these past few years."

She nodded solemnly.

"No matter what I may have thought when Robert first brought me here, or how much I fought against the tracers through the years, I am the Earl of Grantham now, and running away will solve nothing. I must stay, and so I do," he stated. "The well-being of our family is important to me. I encouraged Cora to get away for a bit, and for Violet to travel some herself. I like to know how everyone is faring – Edith, Sybil, and you."

She swallowed tightly. "In four days' time, I shall no longer be your concern."

"You'll always be my concern," he answered, looking at her intently. "Until the last breath leaves my body."

She pursed her lips to calm herself. "That's not our way of doing things, you know. My sisters and I are all married. We belong to our husbands now and have households of our own to manage. We grew up here, but we have no claim to it now that we're gone, just as you have no responsibility for any of us any longer."

His eyes narrowed and he looked away for a moment before glancing back at her. "Seeing as I'm the head of this family now, I shall decide just who I am responsible for, Mary."

She looked down and patted Valiant lightly. "Some would say you would be overstepping your bounds."

"Let them try and stop me, then," he answered.

She looked over at him, overwhelmed by the determination on his face.

"There's just enough time for us to see the Temple of Diana before luncheon if we hurry," he declared, his voice softening as he looked up at the overcast sky. "Come."

He moved his horse forward at a quicker pace and she followed promptly.

* * *

"I can't believe the month is almost up," Anna noted, walking slowly alongside her mistress.

"Your time in service will soon be over. You'll go back to being an innkeeper," Mary teased, giving her lady's maid a smile.

They wandered through the newly improved Rose Garden, the plants and bushes pruned and ready for winter. Over the past weeks, Mary had overseen a clean-up of the old paths so that touring the area was easier, and supervised the planting of an entire new section. She smiled as they walked, imagining just how beautiful it would all be come spring.

Anna shook her head. "Mr Bates is the innkeeper. I'm just the innkeeper's wife who serves the drinks and keeps the books."

"All the better," Mary nodded. "While Bates may be behind the bar, I'm sure you get more than your fair share of flirting soldiers coming through, don't you?"

Anna gasped in shock before breaking down and laughing a bit when she saw Mary's smiling face. "Well, a few. They're harmless, really."

"What does Bates think about how harmless they are?" Mary asked.

Anna blushed. "He gets a little jealous. I probably allow them to go on for a tad more than I should, just so he doesn't get too comfortable."

Mary laughed and nodded in admiration. "Well said. Never allow your husband to become too complacent."

Anna nodded, her smile dropping a bit as she thought of just what kind of marriage Lady Mary must be returning to. Though she didn't know very much about Sir Richard beyond what she saw of him before, that was already enough for her to decide she didn't much like the man. She had noticed a visible change in Lady Mary over the past weeks. She seemed far happier than when she first arrived even. Anna feared for how that might change once she returned to Haxby.

"You should come by and see for yourself," Anna suggested. "When you come back from London in the New Year."

Mary smiled forlornly but nodded just the same. "I will. I expect that you'll be seeing much more of me than before."

"It would be our honour, Milady," Anna nodded, though she suspected that Lady Mary was simply being courteous. Since her wedding, Lady Mary seldom ventured out on her own to the Village, and Sir Richard would surely keep a tight watch over her after she spent a month with His Lordship. Though Anna did not know what the two of them got up to in the evenings after she and Bates went back to their cottage, it was obvious that they were on friendlier terms now than before. Sir Richard would be incensed to see the easy manner they shared, which meant that Lady Mary would be kept away from the Grantham Arms and anywhere else that His Lordship frequented.

"As much as I enjoy our life now, it has been so very fun being back here," Anna stated. "It's reminded us of all the time we spent here, all the history we have in this house."

Mary nodded. "I never thought I would return here for more than a day, let alone an entire month."

"You've enjoyed your stay, though?" Anna dared to ask.

Mary smiled and looked over the garden with satisfaction and pride. "I have, Anna. More than I ever imagined I would."

* * *

"My Lord, a package has arrived for you from London," Carson announced, bringing the small box into the study and placing it down on the desk.

Matthew looked up from his book and glanced at it briefly before resuming his reading. "Thank you, Carson."

Carson nodded and turned for the door.

"Carson, I have several letters that need to be posted today, if you will," Matthew called, taking a stack of letters and placing them off to the side.

"Very good, my Lord," the butler answered, returning to take the letters. "I shall see to it."

"See to it personally, please, Carson," Matthew ordered. "I need them to arrive as quickly as possible, whatever the cost."

Carson frowned in puzzlement. He never posted letters for His Lordship personally. "Yes, my Lord."

"Perhaps Mrs Hughes would enjoy taking a walk down to the Village to accompany you on your mission," Matthew mentioned. "You can take tea before returning. Have them send the bill to me."

Carson blinked in surprise. "That's far too generous, my Lord. We both have our duties to attend to and our obligation is to…"

"Carson," Matthew interrupted him, looking up at the butler pointedly. "Take your wife out for tea. That's an order."

Carson swallowed, speechless for a moment. "Yes, my Lord. Thank you, my Lord."

"No thanks are necessary. With Bates and Anna set to leave, the two of you are the only couple left in this house, after all. Your happiness should be encouraged," Matthew noted, going back to his book.

Carson's mouth fell open before he quickly brought himself back under composure.

"Good day, Carson," Matthew said crisply.

"Good day, my Lord," Carson bowed his head and left, his stride picking up as he went in search of his wife to give her the wonderful news.

Matthew smirked at the butler's uncharacteristic enthusiasm before he sighed and closed his book. Shaking his head, he reached for another, a frown furrowing his brow as he flipped the pages while deep in thought.

* * *

"Mary, I thought that we were having drinks in the drawing room," Matthew mumbled, following her down the darkened hallway.

"Darling, we've been going through to the drawing room for years. For one night, we can do something different, can't we?" Mary teased, squeezing his hand as she led him further along.

"Of course, yes, but I don't know why we would come over here. I don't even know where we are, exactly," he frowned, looking around as they passed one nondescript door after another.

"That is exactly the point, my Lord," she smirked. "You're at my mercy now."

He chuckled and shook his head. "So it would seem. Lead on, m'lady."

She took him deeper into the unknown wing, their footsteps echoing off the hardwood. There was no light to guide them save the pale glow filtering in through the drape-covered windows every so often. Still, Mary navigated easily, bringing him with her until after several minutes she stopped at a set of double doors at the end of their path.

"Through here," she said, nodding towards the door.

Frowning at her in confusion, he stepped forward and opened the doors. She nudged him to go in first and followed after, smiling as she closed the doors behind them.

He was surprised to see a fire was going in the hearth, the flames revealing a large bedroom. The furniture and décor seemed quite dated, though the entire room was lavishly appointed. Everything had gold accents and ornate designs. The bed featured a towering canopy with red curtains, and the matching paper on the walls was covered in gold flowers. Even though this was a long shuttered part of the house, there were fresh flowers on the dresser and vanity, the rugs were clean, and the entire room was dusted and aired out.

"What is this?" he asked, looking over at Mary curiously.

She smiled and stepped towards the fire. "This was the bedroom used by the Fourth Earl. The furniture is all Georgian era."

He nodded and looked around. "I see that. And why are we here?"

She smiled and went over to the window. "The Fourth Earl built the library that we have now. He quite enjoyed collecting books."

He frowned and watched her. "He sounds like a man after my own heart."

"Perhaps," she replied mysteriously. "He also collected horses and women."

He blinked. "Well, perhaps we do not resemble each other entirely, then."

"Oh, I don't know," she mused, wandering over to the fire before looking over her shoulder at him. "I know better than most that there's more to you than what one sees on the surface."

He approached her slowly, noticing for the first time how the light from the fire seemed to make her dress shimmer. He blinked as he seemed to be able to make out the shadow of her legs beneath the silk, and even the outline of her hips.

"Books I enjoy, yes," he nodded. "However, I only keep a few horses, and as for women, well, I should say that I have no collection to speak of."

"You say that now, but it would not be so difficult for you to start," she noted softly.

He reached her and raised his hand, trailing the back of his fingers lightly across her cheek. "I suppose that is true. I never did take the time to sample all that the world has to offer."

She swallowed as his hand moved to her neck. "The Fourth Earl used this room for his trysts. He would have whores and consorts brought up through a back entrance and send them away once he was through with them."

"Did he?" he asked, slipping his arms around her waist and up to the bodice of her dress. He trailed his fingers along the top button resting just above her chest. "That sounds quite efficient."

"His appetite was legendary, apparently," she hissed as he popped the button open. "He could go through two or three women in one night, sometimes all at once."

"I find that rather difficult to believe," he replied, moving to another button. "Wouldn't his Countess have taken issue with such debauchery?"

"She would not have had any rights back then," she breathed, his warm fingers ghosting across her bare skin as he loosened her dress. "If he wanted her to watch him or even join in, she couldn't object."

"That sounds terrible," he growled. "Isn't the thrill in finding pleasure together, rather than selfishly caring only for one's own needs and manipulating others purely ?"

She nodded. "Yes, but what does Marie Stopes say? Is she not a proponent of a woman encouraging a man's desire to hunt his prey?"

"She does write about that, yes," he agreed, slipping his hand past her dress and finding her bare breast. "I don't know how accurate that statement is, however."

"You don't think that men enjoy the chase and the conquest?" she asked, her eyelids fluttering as he fondled her.

"Maybe we do, but I will always hold that a willing and eager woman is more arousing than a docile and accommodating one," he replied.

"Perhaps you are underestimating the Countess," she suggested.

"How so?" he asked, holding her stare.

"Perhaps she was not docile at all," she answered. "Perhaps she enjoyed being wicked and wild with her husband."

He let out a harsh breath. "And what about the other women that he collected, as you say?"

"Power was as seductive then as it is now, I expect," she nodded. "Better to be claimed by the Earl of Grantham than some commoner spending his wages on one night of pleasure."

He snarled at her insinuation, thoughts of Henry and whoever else that Carlisle had made her entertain flashing in his head.

"Was that why the Fourth Earl was able to allegedly have so many women, do you think?" he asked. "His power?"

"I do not doubt that some of his conquests could have been less than pleased to be with him, but in the end they could have felt they had no choice but to obey. In those instances, the pleasure would have been his alone, and they would have merely tolerated his presence for as long as necessary," she admitted.

"But not all of them felt that way?" he questioned.

She swallowed. "Perhaps some of them enjoyed being under his power. Perhaps some of them took pleasure in pleasing him."

"Could you imagine having such desires?" he asked. His hands reached up and took hold of the neckline of her dress, his eyes feasting on her pale skin as he eased the garment off her shoulders and down her arms.

"For the right man, yes," she nodded.

"I love you, Mary," he whispered, breathing in her perfume.

She pulled her arms free of the sleeves of her dress and gasped as his hands covered her breasts. Turning her head, she kissed him softly, feeling his firm body pressed against her from behind.

"I love you," she whispered. "But what we've done has been so very wrong."

He nodded. "I know."

"You've made me an adulteress," she sighed. "I've broken my vows countless times this month to be with you."

He swallowed and kissed her again. "You have."

"I've shown complete disregard for my marriage, all because you fuck me better than Richard ever has or ever could," she hissed.

"Mary," he growled, teasing her swollen flesh to firm arousal while his lips kissed her over and over.

"I can't be your mistress, no matter how badly I may want to," she moaned.

"No, that wouldn't be fair, and it's too dangerous besides," he agreed. "I wouldn't ask that of you. You deserve so much more."

"As do you," she nodded, kissing him more fiercely. "Tonight, though, I want to be wicked and wild."

"Mary," he snapped. "You don't have to…"

"Think of all the times that I ignored you," she interrupted him, her pulse speeding up as his fingers played with her. "Think of all the times I left you to the side to chase after some fool. Think of how I didn't answer your proposal right away and made you wait."

"That's not who we are anymore," he protested.

"You must have been angry with me," she continued. "You must have been incensed and enraged. You must have wanted to put me in my place."

"No," he shook his head. "You owe me nothing."

She worked her dress down and shimmied her hips to make it fall to the floor.

He groaned as he stared at her naked body glowing in the firelight.

"I'm leaving you soon, far too soon," she gasped. "I'm going back to him, back to a man you despise. I want you to show me what I'll be giving up."

His hand trailed down her stomach and between her legs, a groan leaving both of them as he felt her arousal. She cried out as he stroked her, his other hand moving up to tease her lips and tongue.

"Is that why you brought me here?" he demanded.

She nodded, her eyelids struggling to stay open. "We can be anyone we want here. You can be the all-powerful Earl who won another man's wife in a poker match."

"And you?" he whispered. "Who do you want to be?"

"Anyone you want me to be. Your consort. Your whore," she breathed between kisses, her cheeks flushing from arousal and shame.

"Mary," he growled. "I could never think of you as anything other than the love of my life."

She grinned and nodded, taking in his leering gaze.

"That doesn't mean you can't be rough and demanding with me," she breathed. "Fuck me, Matthew. Fuck me hard. I want you to. Only you will ever have me like this."

He kissed her heatedly, groaning as he felt her hand reach back and squeeze him through his trousers.

"Get on the bed," he snarled, fondling her one last time before he nudged her forward.

She stepped out of her dress and walked over to the bed, feeling him right behind her. Reaching it, she turned and sat down elegantly, though her wide eyes showed only lust.

He reached out his hand and caressed her cheek before moving down and taking a firm hold of the back of her neck.

She nuzzled against his hand before leaning towards him. Bringing her hands up, she quickly undid his trousers and threw them down his legs together with his pants.

"You're the only man who's ever been in my mouth," she breathed harshly as she took hold of him. "Do you like knowing that you made me please you this way?"

He grunted as she kissed him and ran her tongue all over his hard length.

"You're much bigger than my husband," she stated before taking him in.

"Mary!" he called, her wanton attentions setting his mind afire. He struggled to throw off his jacket and undo his shirt, watching her take more and more of him with each pass. Eventually, he could no longer keep his hips still and he thrust forward, his fingers running through her hair as she let him set the pace. He was able to pull back before he lost complete control, but the evidence of her effect on him was obvious.

"I used to abhor sex," she drawled sultrily, moving backwards up the bed as he crawled forward and stalked her. "I never thought it would ever be enjoyable."

"And now?" he asked, capturing her ankles and spreading her legs. He moved over her, his devilish smile poised above her stomach.

"My views on sex haven't changed," she stated, arching her eyebrow playfully. "However, making love to you is proving to be quite fun."

He chuckled and kissed his way up her leg. "Fun is a good word, though a woman of your elevated vocabulary can surely find others?"

She sighed in anticipation as he kissed his way along her waist. "Maybe, if I had sufficient inspiration."

"My thoughts exactly, my darling," he whispered before resting her thighs on his shoulders and dropping his head.

"Matthew!" she cried, her body arching and her hands reaching out to grasp the blankets as he slipped his tongue inside. "Oh God!"

"Am I the only man to do this to you, Mary?" he taunted her, his fingers joining in his mouth in driving her mad.

"Yes! Oh, yes! Only you!" she moaned, turning her head as he built her up. Her hand reached down shakily across her stomach and found the back of his head. Crying out, she pulled him in, her hips lifting wantonly to offer herself up to him.

He devoured her with merciless precision, pressing down on her with his fingers just as her eyes rolled back and she shouted out her release. She still couldn't understand how he had drawn this side of her to the fore, made her someone who craved, and desired, and wanted all he had to offer. She didn't wish to compare him to Richard or Kemal or anyone else, but how could she not? What he did to her was far beyond anything she'd ever felt before.

She felt him kiss his way up her body, his hands strong and firm as they turned her over on to her side. His arms came around her and pulled her back, his body fitting in behind her, his hips moving against hers. Her mind was too dazed to guess at what he intended for her, but she was too weak to resist anyway. The warmth of his hold and the lure of his scent drew her in, and when he moved her leg forward, she complied, only to cry out in shock when he thrust home.

"Matthew!" she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder, his arms keeping her trapped in place. Without any leverage she rocked back and forth in rhythm with his motions, unable to do anything but take all of him again and again.

"Mary, Mary," he chanted, kissing her shoulder and neck, his hold unbreakable.

A wide smile crept over her face, the familiar stirrings of another release drawing closer and closer. It was so unlike him to be so raw and aggressive, and that was what thrilled her the most. Unlike with her previous lovers, where she didn't move out of paralyzing fear or stifling disinterest, she reveled in being entirely in his grip, her body moulded to his, moving as one. She was neither a victim to be plucked, nor a trophy to be owned. She was a woman, free to do as she wanted, be who she wanted, unburdened by any scandal or worry over what her actual family name was. With Matthew, she was simply Mary, the woman he loved, the woman he wanted more than any other. The pounding of his hips held no malice or threat despite their force. It was need, and yearning, and love, and she savoured every second of it.

"Please, Mary," he begged. "Please. I want to hear you."

She arched her back and yelled, a scream of absolute rapture, confident that no one could hear them even though she was loud enough to wake the neighbours. He didn't stop, continuing to take her as she flew far beyond the edge, only prolonging her bliss.

She was still shaking when he slowed down, his lips warm and soft against her neck. He fell away from her on to his back and ran his hand through his mussed hair, breathing in deeply.

"Mmm, darling that was astounding," she purred, turning over and kissing his chest. "How do you ever imagine such ideas?"

He laughed and caressed her back, a low groan leaving his lips when she kissed her way lower down his body.

"Watch me," she ordered, arching her eyebrow at him before she took him into her mouth again.

His eyes went wide as she serviced him, still stunned all these weeks later that it was she who was with him, she who was loving him. Their time left together was short, yet he couldn't think of that now, lying here in splendour with Mary naked before him.

"How do you want me next, my Lord?" she asked, looking up at him mischievously while she stroked him. "Shall I guess?"

He exhaled sharply when she crawled past him on her hands and knees, reaching up and taking hold of the headboard.

Rising to his knees, he moved behind her, his one hand taking hold of her hip while the other moved along her smooth back.

"You've made me quite riled up," he warned, tugging back on her hair before reaching around and cupping her breast.

"I don't believe you," she challenged, grinding her bottom against him enticingly. "You're no beast."

"Let us see," he retorted, tightening his grip and leaning over her.

She closed her eyes and grinned before he stole the air from her lungs.

 **Auchentroig House, Kensington, London, England, October 1921**

"My Lady, a letter for you," the butler called, bowing politely and presenting a silver tray.

Lady Anne Acland took the letter and blade from the tray. She sliced the envelope open and returned it and the blade to the butler. He bowed and retreated as she unfolded the letter and read it, her face brightening with growing interest as she went.

"From one of your friends, my dear?" her father asked from his seat across from her.

She smiled and shook her head. "It's an invitation to dine at Grantham House next week."

"Ah, from Lord Grantham," her mother smiled. "How lovely."

"He is, yes, but the invitation is actually from his cousin, Lady Mary Carlisle," Anne nodded. "How nice of her. I wasn't sure if she even liked me."

"How could she not?" her mother laughed incredulously.

"Well, perhaps she wonders if I'm fit to be Countess of Grantham," Anne suggested.

"That's hardly her concern. She no longer lives at Downton Abbey. None of them do, except for him, and poor Cora," her mother noted.

"Yes, Mama, but she still must care for the fate of her family home, as well as who her cousin may choose for a wife. Remember that he proposed to her before the War," Anne stated.

"An entire lifetime ago," her mother shook her head. "She's married to Sir Richard now and is far too busy hosting parties and fundraisers to be overly concerned about her past relationships. I'm sure she's encouraging you so that Lord Grantham will get on with doing his duty, just as the Dowager Countess intended when she invited you to dinner weeks ago."

"Maybe," Anne nodded. "It will be nice to see Matthew again."

"You must give him something to think about, my dear," her mother smiled. "Make it clear where you stand."

Anne smiled and blushed. "I don't believe Matthew is the type of man who appreciates a woman who is so forward, Mama."

"He clearly likes to take his time, which is all well and good, however, men do sometimes need a bit of a nudge," her mother smiled, glancing over at her father.

"I am still in the room, you realize, dearest?" her father joked. "And I seem to recall that it was your mother who threw you at me."

Anne laughed and sipped her tea, visions of a lovely dinner at the London home of the Earl of Grantham dancing in her head.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"I feel as though I owe you an apology," Matthew muttered, smiling sheepishly as they walked along the path.

Mary looked at him curiously. "Whatever for?"

"For my behaviour last night," he answered, glancing over at her. "I'm afraid that I wasn't quite myself."

She frowned for a moment before looking ahead to the large tree in the distance. "How so?"

He swallowed tightly. "I believe that I was…erm…disrespectful."

She arched her eyebrow. "You'll need to be more specific. What was disrespectful? When you pulled my hair or when you spanked me?"

He coughed and beat his chest lightly, his face turning red. "Yes, all of that. It was entirely inappropriate, darling. I forgot myself."

"You did," she nodded. "And I loved it."

He looked over at her teasing smirk and scoffed, shaking his head as a slow smile appeared on his face. "You don't deserve such barbarism from me or anyone."

She laughed. "Oh, come now, darling. I'm not a fragile doll. I won't break. Seeing you desire me so desperately was quite exciting. You were passionate and powerful, like an animal almost."

He frowned. "I would never force you to do anything you didn't want to, Mary."

She nodded. "I know. That's why I enjoyed last night so much. I was curious as to what it would feel like to be so powerless, and you were more than up to the task."

"Yes, but darling, you've been mistreated so much already, I don't want to be like those others who…" he stammered.

"You are nothing at all like them," she declared firmly. "You would have stopped had I told you to, wouldn't you?"

"Absolutely," he stated.

She smiled. "I knew that which was why I never felt scared or worried. You were exactly what I needed when I needed it. So no apologies. I wouldn't say that I welcome you behaving that way all the time, but every so often when the mood calls for it, it's delightful to know just what you are capable of."

He nodded grudgingly and escorted her over to their bench, allowing her to sit down first before he joined her. They looked over the grounds, their joined hands resting on her lap. With just three nights left until she was due back at Haxby, the need to hide their affair was diminishing. When they made their way back to the Family Wing after thoroughly ransacking the Fourth Earl's bedroom, he stayed with her until dawn, holding her as she slept and only going back to his own room when the sun rose.

"Do you ever wonder how different things would have turned out had I accepted you?" she asked quietly.

He looked over at her before staring out the horizon. "Sometimes, yes. I try not and dwell on the past. I learned that in the Army. Nothing will change, so there's no point looking back."

"I know that better than most," she nodded. "Still, being back here with you, I can't help but wonder."

He squeezed her hand. "I wouldn't have left when I did, obviously."

She smiled, looking down at their interlaced fingers. "We would have married in the Village Church, of course. Papa would have insisted that the Archbishop take charge of the ceremony."

"Over Travis? Well, I suppose he did get to do Edith's wedding, ultimately," he noted.

"There would have been large crowds, streamers and flags and confetti everywhere," she mused. "As the heir, you would have been treated as royalty."

He chuckled and shook his head. "It would have been a bit of a sideshow, but I would have gotten through it, with your help."

"Luncheon back here with hundreds of guests. It would have been one of the highlights of the Social calendar. Your head would spin from all the relations and well-wishers coming up to you that you didn't know," she laughed at the image.

"Again, I would have gotten through it with your help," he smiled.

"Where would we have gone for our honeymoon, do you think?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Well, I expect you would have decided that."

She huffed and smiled at him. "I would have asked for your input before making my decision."

He chuckled. "If I had to guess, I would say the French Riviera. Back at the time, it would have still been safe to travel there."

She nodded in approval. "That's not a bad guess at all. The sea is gorgeous there, and the food and shopping are absolutely divine."

"As long as I got to see you in a bathing suit, that would be enough for me," he teased.

"Right, well I expect you would see me in far less than that," she remarked.

They both smiled and looked away.

"What about children?" she asked quietly.

"It would be expected of us to get on with that rather quickly, wouldn't it?" he nodded.

"Especially since you would be enlisting," she agreed. "I'd probably be beside myself with worry during those years. I was a wreck already as it was, but if we were married, goodness…"

He nodded. "I never did thank you for taking care of me, did I?"

She blushed. "I'm sure you must have mentioned it at some point."

"No, I believe I would have remembered," he stated. "Thank you, Mary. There were times when I didn't think I was going to make it through, to be honest, and you were right there pushing me along, even dragging me when you had to. I never thought about it back then, but there was no reason for you to do that. We were engaged to other people and you had other patients."

She smiled. "None as important to me as you. Besides, it's not as if my motives were entirely altruistic. You gave me a convenient escape from Richard, and I didn't have to make up any excuses to spend time with you. More importantly, you needed me."

"I did. More than I even knew," he nodded sadly, the mention of her husband sobering the colour of his happy memories.

She felt it, too, and looked down at her left hand instinctively. She always wore her rings during the day, mainly to ensure that no one noticed any difference in her. She removed them at night before being with Matthew, and each morning when she put them back on, it felt as though she was fastening shackles to herself.

"Well, you've had me now," she smiled bravely. "It all came good in the end."

"Not really. Not enough," he shook his head. "Not nearly enough."

"Matthew," she sighed sadly.

"Just hear me out," he implored her. "I know you have to go back. I hate it, but I know how impossible all of this seems in light of Cousin Violet's secret. I'm speechless at how strong you are to have taken this on, my darling."

"I don't feel particularly strong," she mumbled.

"You are strong," he repeated. "But I want to give you strength if you'll allow me to."

She looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small velvet box.

Her eyes almost popped out of her head.

"Open it," he encouraged her.

She swallowed nervously before reaching out and lifting the small lid. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw a gold wedding band resting inside.

"Oh, Matthew," she whispered.

"I know we can't, not officially," he said, drawing her gaze. "But I want you to have this all the same."

She cringed. "I'm afraid it's too dangerous, darling. If Richard were to find it, I…"

"That's the beauty of it," he said. "Look closely."

She arched her eyebrow and focused more on the ring. After several seconds, her mouth fell open.

"That's, well, that looks similar to my own ring," she noted.

He smiled. "Precisely."

She stared at him in shock. "You want me to replace it?"

He nodded. "It will be our secret, something that Carlisle will never be able to discover. I ordered it from the same jeweller in London. I used a different name and had it delivered to another address before having it sent on to here, but it's the same as your ring – the same weight, the same colour, everything."

She couldn't help but grin. "That's brilliant, darling. I shouldn't, though. You must find another, a woman who is available to you."

"But you want to," he stated.

She swallowed and nodded. "Of course, I want to."

He smiled in relief. "This will be ours, my darling. Only for us."

She shared his smile, tears gathering in her eyes. "Only for us."

He nodded. "So will you?"

She blinked in surprise before she smirked at him playfully. "You must say it properly. I won't answer unless you kneel down and everything."

He laughed and shook his head. Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers lightly before sliding off the bench and taking a knee.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling gleefully. This was so wrong and so pointless, yet she loved all of it.

"Lady Mary Crawley, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?" he asked.

"Yes," she nodded eagerly.

They both laughed as he removed her rings and replaced her wedding band with his own. She sat back and looked at her hand. He was right. Richard would never be able to tell the difference, and yet seeing them for herself, a wave of delight filled her at having a secret of her own. She would have a reminder of Matthew with her always now, a symbol of their love and their commitment to each other, as impossible as it was.

"What shall we do with this one?" he asked, holding her old wedding band in his outstretched palm.

"Burn it," she laughed. "The melted gold should fetch a decent price."

He smiled and tucked it away in his pocket. Sitting back on the bench, he took her hand again as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Lady Mary Crawley. I like the sound of that," she declared.

* * *

"Carson, I'll be heading to the office tomorrow. I expect to be back in time for luncheon," Matthew advised, handing his empty Port glass to the butler.

"Very good, my Lord. I'll have the car ready for you," Carson nodded.

"There's no need. I plan on taking the bicycle," Matthew stated.

Carson frowned. "Yes, my Lord."

The butler turned on his heel and headed off.

Matthew smiled and got up from his chair. Carson thought it beneath an Earl to ride a bicycle, but with November almost upon them, the days where Matthew could get outside were running out. With any luck, he would be finished up and back home less than an hour after Mary finished her breakfast tray, which would give them the entire rest of the day together. With so few days remaining in her stay, he wasn't inclined to plan anything adventurous for them. They spent most of the time talking, reading, and simply being in each other's presence. Though they didn't dare speak about it, this would likely be the last time they would see each other for months. Carlisle would have his suspicions, but no confirmation that anything had happened between them during her time here, and life as Mary knew it would return to normal. Matthew didn't expect to be invited to any more poker matches for a while, which suited him fine. He refused to think about it, but he would likely dread seeing Mary in the same room as her husband, after all that they'd done.

He went through the Great Hall and up the stairs, his steps slow and easy. She had gone up before, giving him a playful smile and the silent promise that they would see each other again soon. The thought comforted him all the way to his bedroom. He was determined to make their remaining handful of days and nights the best yet.

* * *

Mary breathed deeply as she moved down the dark hallway. Though every step brought her closer to Matthew, so too did it mean their time together was slipping away. They had tonight and tomorrow, and a scant couple of days and nights after that. The more she thought about it, the more her chest tightened and her pulse jumped. Over the past years, she'd grown used to the feeling of helplessness, seeing an approaching doom and being unable to avoid it. That despondency returned now, creeping into her happiness, a looming threat that would soon envelop her once more.

As the door to Matthew's bedroom appeared before her at the end of the hall, she wondered just how she would possibly go on after all this. It was one thing to be Richard's wife and throw herself into her hosting and planning duties. Keeping herself busy helped her avoid her husband and the reminder of how sad her situation was. That was before she knew what it was like to be in Matthew's arms, to feel his kiss, to lay with him and be with him as only a husband and wife ought to. She had no idea how she would block out such memories, but she knew she must for her own sanity.

Clearing her mind, she paused on the threshold and put on a smile before pushing the door open and slipping inside.

"I was beginning to wonder how much longer you would…" Matthew began, looking up from his book and stopping mid-sentence.

"How much longer I would…?" she asked, coming over to the bed.

"Be…" he finished, setting the book aside and slowly getting up out of bed. "What are you…?"

"Do you like it?" she asked, turning around slowly so he could appreciate her ensemble from all sides. "I found it in the attics. It's even before Granny's time but it fits me rather well, doesn't it?"

The gown was white with silver beading along the hem and the wide cuffs of the sleeves. Though the dress was from another era, it framed Mary's figure wonderfully, tapering down to her narrow waist and curved hips before billowing out past her feet. The train was short but left no doubt as to the purpose of the dress. If that wasn't already obvious, her matching veil made it complete.

"If we were married, I might wear something like this, perhaps not so dated," she teased, smiling at him. "And at night, I would dismiss Anna early so that my husband would have the privilege of undressing me."

He nodded and came to her, his hand reaching out and running along her arm, feeling the softness of the dress.

"Well? Will I do?" she asked quietly.

"Most definitely," he nodded, kissing her softly.

She smiled against his lips, playing with his tongue before allowing him to taste her neck. When he finally pulled back, he turned her slightly and led her over to stand before the mirror.

"You're a vision, my darling," he nodded.

"And you are woefully underdressed," she replied, arching her eyebrow at his bare chest and pyjama trousers.

"I can ring for Bates to come and dress me in black tie, if you like," he shrugged.

"Don't you dare," she warned. "Now do your duty to your new wife. The dress buttons along the back."

He grinned and carefully moved her veil aside to find the delicate buttons at the back of the dress. Unclasping them slowly, he leaned over and pressed a warm kiss to her skin as he revealed more and more of her. Standing back up, he found her eyes in the mirror as he pulled her dress down.

She breathed in while he circled around her, leaving her veil on while he pulled her dress down her hips and to the floor, a trail of hot kisses following in its wake. She stepped out of the vintage gown and soon divested him of his scant clothing, turning to watch them in the mirror as she stroked him to arousal while his hands roamed down her back to caress her bottom.

The scene in the mirror was lewd and wrong – a married woman standing naked with another man, touching him intimately – but neither of them could feel any regret or remorse. He knew the truth now, that she had no real choice but to accept Carlisle, and it not only put everything before into perspective, it made him feel as though all they had done this month was so very right. It was as if Mary was the soldier home briefly from the battle, soon to go out again to the desolation and gloom of the Front. For this one month of freedom, she had lived on her terms, taken every joy and pleasure without reservation, just so she could know she had when it was time to depart and her liberty was taken away. When Matthew won her company in that final poker hand, he told himself that he did it to spare her the punishment of spending a weekend with Tony, but it was really to try and wrest her away from Carlisle, if only for a short time. Seeing her now, confident, playful and bold, warmed his heart.

Though at this exact moment, he was a bit preoccupied.

"Do you know I've done a bit of reading myself?" she whispered, backing him towards the bed.

"Have you?" he smiled, wondering what she was up to.

"Mmm hmm," she nodded. "I discovered something that I wasn't aware was even possible, but which has now intrigued me."

"That sounds enlightening," he remarked.

"I do very much hope it will be," she smiled.

She pushed him down to the bed and he fell back, lying down and making room for her. Smiling down at him, she lifted her veil and cast it aside, climbing on to the bed as naked as he was. Smirking up at him, she settled between his legs, taking hold of him once more.

"Do you like this?" she asked, leaning down and kissing his length.

"Yes," he nodded, watching her intently.

"And this?" she continued, licking him slowly.

"Yes," he repeated.

"Well, you most certainly shall like this, then," she teased, arching her eyebrow before she closed her mouth around him.

He could only nod and stare as she pleasured him, her breasts and bottom swaying before him as she took more and more.

"Oh, Mary!" he groaned, breathing harshly as the sight and sound of what she was doing sent his arousal spiralling higher. "I love how you do that."

"No one else has ever done this for you, have they?" she questioned, lifting up and smiling at him.

He shook his head vigorously. "Only you, my darling."

She grinned at that before resuming her attentions, a strange sense of pride filling her. If Richard ever asked her to do the same, she would be completely disgusted, but the wickedness of doing this for Matthew thrilled her.

"Stay where you are," she commanded, rising up to her knees.

He could only nod, gazing up at her with wide eyes.

She laughed at his expression, a blush colouring her cheeks at the admiration on his face. No one had ever looked at her like that before. Men stared at her before with lust, idolatry, and even resentment, but never appreciation. As much as he was leering at her, she knew she had his respect as well, and that made all the difference.

"I was reading on ways for both of us to take pleasure," she declared, moving up the bed. "I would never have contemplated the thought before, but that first time we were together, when you used your mouth on me, was quite incredible."

He smiled and nodded. "I know it sounds rather arrogant, but I love that I'm the first to have done that for you."

She laughed and kissed him. "You've been the first to do several things to me, you know."

He grinned and kissed her back. "As have you for me."

"Well, I do hope this shall be added to the list," she said mysteriously.

Turning around, she straddled his chest, kneeling above him just out of reach.

He gasped as he looked up at her.

She grinned when she saw him lurch in response. "You mustn't touch me until I say so."

"God, Mary," he whinged, his hands running up and down her thighs. "Please."

"Now, now, darling, not so fast," she teased.

He groaned but remained still.

"Such a good boy," she drawled, leaning down and kissing his stomach.

"Mary," he breathed, watching her move down his body, her hips drawing enticingly closer to his ready mouth, yet staying beyond his reach. When she took hold of him, his hands tightened around her thighs.

"Not yet," she warned, kissing his length appreciatively.

His tortured moan only made her more aroused.

"Now, Matthew," she called before opening her lips and sliding him in.

They both groaned together as he pulled her down to rest on top of him. She stilled with him swelling in her mouth while he ravished her, his hands sliding up and massaging her bottom. Her every moan seemed to make him shake and soon he was thrusting towards her, which made her return to pleasing him with renewed enthusiasm.

He tasted her over and over, every swipe of his tongue growing more and more rabid. With one hand holding her steady, he slid his other hand over to tease her before dipping inside.

She shouted around him at the new sensation, so dark and decadent. Her hips moved awkwardly, trying to take more of him, and he obliged, his second finger almost making her fall apart.

He stopped moving his hips, focusing entirely on her, wanting her to feel even a semblance of the pleasure she was giving him. Her loud cries and the push of her hips signalled she was close and with one hard stab of his tongue and fingers, she let go.

A shout left her lips as her head fell off of him, her hand still stroking him while she shook. Her unfocused eyes caught their reflection in the mirror across the room. They were a blurry tangle of arms and legs to her addled brain, but that only made what they were doing all the more wicked.

"How was that?" she gasped, slumped over him, her heart beating madly.

"I only wish that you had discovered it earlier," he chuckled, kissing her thigh lightly.

"Well, what next? We must take care of you," she whispered, gazing at his hard flesh hungrily.

"I'm thinking of trying something new as well," he grinned, easing her off of him and on to her back.

"Your wish is my command," she smiled, reaching her arms out to him.

He smiled and moved on top of her. "I love you, Mary."

"I love you," she answered. "I always will."

* * *

"Milady, I wish that you would reconsider," Anna tried again, looking over at Mary. "His Lordship won't be pleased. He'll be devastated."

Mary swallowed and nodded to her reflection in the mirror. It had been nearly a month since she last wore this exact outfit, on the day that she travelled from Haxby to Downton. She hadn't touched it since, leaving it in the closet, not even looking at it. Wearing it now, she thought she never looked uglier.

"I'm only leaving a few days early, Anna," Mary scoffed. "It's hardly something to get worked up over."

"If it's so harmless, why did you wait for His Lordship to leave the house before you had me pack your things?" Anna asked. "I expect you haven't told him of your plans either. He would never let you leave without saying a proper goodbye."

She frowned and glared at her lady's maid before sighing when she saw her friend's sad face.

"I must go, Anna," Mary shook her head. "If I wait until the final day, saying goodbye to this place and to him, it will be horrible. I don't want the last image we have of each other to be full of anguish. I want him only to remember all that we shared during my stay."

Anna cringed but nodded.

"I'll see you downstairs," Mary said shakily, turning and leaving her bedroom without taking another look around.

Carson was waiting for her when she reached the Great Hall. Smiling to him, she went over and kissed him on the cheek.

"The motor is waiting outside, my Lady," the butler announced.

"Thank you, Carson," she nodded. "It has been so very wonderful to see you again for the past month."

"The honour has been mine, my Lady," Carson nodded.

Mary looked over and took a deep breath as she watched the footmen bring her luggage out to the car. She turned back to the butler and smiled.

"There's no need for you to see me out. Do give Mrs Hughes my best, please. Take care of her, Carson," Mary ordered.

"I shall, my Lady," Carson replied. "My very best wishes to you."

She swallowed to stop her tears. "Thank you."

She turned away from him and went over to Anna, who was already crying.

"None of that now, you'll make me fall apart," Mary implored her, smiling before giving in and hugging her friend tightly. "Thank you for everything. You must let me know when you have news to share."

"We will, of course," Anna laughed. "You can come and visit."

"I will," Mary nodded, stepping back and pursing her lips. Neither of them wished to dwell on how tenuous of a promise it was.

"Good luck, Bates," Mary said politely, nodding to the valet.

"And to you, my Lady," Bates replied.

Mary took one last look around the Great Hall, her lip quivering. Matthew had kept everything pristine and unchanged, this one room remaining the same as it was when she was a child, but for some electric lighting. She shivered, wondering if a chill had come in through the front door.

He would be inconsolable when she came back from the office, and she was being a coward to leave him like this, but she couldn't stay any longer. After making love last night, she fell asleep in his arms and the thought of having to give that up nearly destroyed her when she went back to her bedroom. He was a part of her now, not only was she wearing his ring, but he was in her very veins. In the early morning, after he left for Ripon and before she rang for Anna, she went back to his bedroom and left her lingerie on his bed, even the pieces that he had torn to shreds. It was an inadequate token, but she wanted him to keep them. Bringing them back to Haxby felt wrong.

Taking a deep breath and calling upon the determination she mustered each day as Lady Mary Carlisle, she turned for the door and marched out to the car. The sky was grey and overcast, the air cold and still. She went over all the tasks she needed to do upon her return to Haxby, trying to distract herself as she got into the back seat and the driver closed the door behind her. As the motor pulled away from Downton, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see anything of her former home. She was bound for her husband's house now, where she belonged, and she buried everything about this past month deep down, only to be remembered in her dreams.


	10. Chapter 10

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

Mary took one last look around the Great Hall, her lip quivering. Matthew had kept everything pristine and unchanged, this one room remaining the same as it was when she was a child, but for some electric lighting. She shivered, wondering if a chill had come in through the front door.

He would be inconsolable when he came back from the office, and she was being a coward to leave him like this, but she couldn't stay any longer. After making love last night, she fell asleep in his arms, and the thought of having to give that up nearly destroyed her when she went back to her bedroom. He was a part of her now, not only was she wearing his ring, but he was in her very veins. In the early morning, after he left for Ripon and before she rang for Anna, she went back to his bedroom and left her lingerie on his bed, even the pieces that he had torn to shreds. It was an inadequate token, but she wanted him to keep them. Bringing them back to Haxby felt wrong.

Taking a deep breath and calling upon the determination she mustered each day as Lady Mary Carlisle, she turned for the door and marched out to the car. The sky was grey and overcast, the air cold and still. She went over all the tasks she needed to do upon her return to Haxby, trying to distract herself as she got into the back seat and the driver closed the door behind her. As the motor pulled away from Downton, she closed her eyes, not wanting to see anything of her former home. She was bound for her husband's house now, where she belonged, and she buried everything about this past month deep down, only to be remembered in her dreams.

 **Chapter 10:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1921**

"Matthew!"

His name spilled from her lips the moment she looked up in shock and saw him standing in the middle of the lane. The motor had just turned away from Downton Abbey and made its way down the long drive towards the country road that would carry her back to Haxby. She was lost in her thoughts, mourning for all she was leaving behind and apprehensive at all that she was going back to. One glance and she knew it was him, even from a distance. He was dressed in the same grey day suit she had seen countless times before, his blue tie and matching pocket square giving his outfit a splash of colour. His hat was slightly crooked, angled to one side, though that only made him appear more imposing now.

What on Earth was he doing here?

The driver slowed the car as they neared him. When they came to a halt, she had no time to say anything before Matthew was striding purposefully towards her door. She stared at him in shock, watching him pull her door open and fix his fierce blue eyes upon her.

"Matthew," she muttered, unable to say anything else.

"Morris," Matthew called to the driver, his eyes never leaving Mary's. "Bring Lady Mary's luggage back to the house and you can park the car out front. We're going to take a walk."

"Yes, my Lord," the driver replied crisply.

Matthew reached out his hand towards her and stepped back.

She took it and came outside, her boots crunching on the gravel. Looking away from him, she gathered her strength while the motor pulled away down the drive.

"I thought that you were at office this morning," she mumbled, only looking at him after she finished speaking.

"I thought that you were staying for a few days yet," he replied, regarding her carefully.

He motioned towards the house and they slowly turned and began to walk, both of them cautiously gauging where the other would take the conversation. She kept her hands to herself. He linked his fingers behind his back, appearing as though he was just out for a leisurely stroll across his grounds. Her stomach was churning at having been caught out, but he would have discovered her escape eventually. She dreaded facing him now, but oddly enough it was a relief to be heading back to Downton. Even in the first few moments of pulling away in the car, she ached thinking of what his reaction would be to come home to find her gone.

"How did you know?" she asked.

"I didn't," he answered. "I had a feeling. We've avoided the issue of your leaving, but it's been on my mind. I suspected it was the same for you, and if you were going to slip away, this morning would be the time to take your chance since I was out."

She nodded.

"Besides, the way you went back to your room last night seemed strange. It was as if you were saying goodbye, rather than just good night," he stated, looking over at her pointedly.

She shook her head. "I thought that you were asleep."

He smiled grudgingly.

"I don't want to go," she admitted. "You must know that."

"Then don't," he shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. "You know it's not that simple."

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But what seems futile and nearly unrecoverable becomes entirely lost if we lose faith now."

"Faith? Faith in what?" she frowned. "I'm leaving, Matthew. Nothing will change that."

"All the more reason to not deny us every last minute we have left," he retorted.

"Whether I leave now or in a few days' time, it will still be devastating, don't you see?" she groaned sadly. "Shouldn't we just accept it? I know you're angry with me now, and you have every right to be, but if this can only end with both of us destroyed, shouldn't we be brave and back away now?"

He laughed sarcastically, glancing up at the overcast sky before fixing his stare back upon her.

"My darling, you are the very personification of bravery for all that you are choosing to endure," he measured his words. "However, giving up now won't spare either of us anything. I won't be any less crushed by your having left so suddenly. I know what it's like to face each day not knowing if I'd live to see another. It gives one all the more reason to fight for every last breath, rather than simply wait for the inevitable."

She cringed and looked down at her hands.

"I've spent far too much time pretending to not love you," he continued, drawing her immediate attention. "There were days and nights at the Front where I believed I would die without having seen you again, where one written word from you was more than I could have hoped for. I know leaving today was a difficult choice for you, and I know that you believed you were only doing what was necessary, but you must understand, Mary, a single day or even two of your company would have seemed an impossible dream to me just a short while ago. I would be mad to give that up to spare a few tears."

She sighed as they approached the house, the car sitting out front. "I suppose I am your prisoner for the month. If you order me to remain, I must."

He scoffed and frowned at her smirking face. "I shall not keep you here against your will. If you truly wish to leave, for any reason at all, you are free to do so. If I ordered you to remain, I would be no better than Carlisle, or Henry, or any other man who sees a woman as his property. I have no claim to you, Mary. I only want you to know that I don't want you to go, and I do desperately hope that you choose to stay."

She nodded slowly. They stopped near the door and she turned towards him. Reaching up to touch his face, she leaned in and kissed him softly.

"Careful," he blinked. "Someone might see."

"Let them," she declared, moving in to kiss him again. "This is hardly the most outrageous thing that I intend to do in my final days here. If we are doomed to part, they'll need to pull me from your arms."

He smiled and held her, kissing her warmly without fear of any of the servants watching, or some sharp-eyed spy of Carlisle's hidden hundreds of yards away. When he left his office to come back to Downton early, he felt a cold fear grip him that he would be too late, that he would find her already gone. He couldn't be mad at her. With all she had been through and all they had done together this month, she didn't want to push her luck any further. He still didn't see any way out for them, which only made him want to enjoy these final days all the more. Smiling at her, he offered her his arm and escorted her back inside into the Great Hall.

* * *

It was with a knowing smile that Mary went up to her room to change out of her traveling outfit. Anna did not say a word when she came up, only smiling and going about her task of unpacking her Mistress' clothes and helping her change with the usual efficiency. Before going back downstairs to Matthew, Mary sat at her vanity and looked at her reflection in the mirror, trying to return to the happy mood she was in before, where leaving to return to Haxby didn't enter her mind, and the fact that they were running out of time together stayed at the hazy periphery of her thoughts.

"Milady, His Lordship asked me to bring you this," Anna called.

Mary turned and looked at her lady's maid. Her curious frown switched to a stunned look of astonishment when Anna handed her a familiar stuffed toy dog.

"His Lordship said you would know what it meant," Anna explained, handing the toy to her Mistress. "He said that he doesn't need it as much as you?"

Mary took the stuffed dog in her shaking hand and stared at it with wide eyes. A smile lit up her face and she shook her head in wonder. She last saw her toy dog when Matthew was brought back injured and unconscious. Sybil had found it amongst his belongings and Mary was shocked that he had kept it all that time. During his convalescence, they never mentioned it, and she didn't give it another thought, assuming he'd donated it to charity or thrown it away at some point. It didn't surprise her one bit that he had hung on to it all this time, and still she was absolutely thrilled to see it.

"Thank you, Anna," Mary said finally, going over to place the toy on her nightstand. "That was very thoughtful of His Lordship."

"I wasn't aware that you collected stuffed animals, Milady," Anna noted, unable to stop herself from smiling.

Mary rolled her eyes. "I don't. Now, run along. I'll see you after luncheon."

Anna smiled and curtsied before leaving the bedroom.

Mary looked over at the toy dog sitting on the nightstand one last time before she went out into the hall, a smile on her face.

* * *

"Matthew? Darling, are you in here?" Mary called, frowning as she ventured into the gymnasium for the first time since she was a child.

Matthew turned and looked back at her over his shoulder. "Hello, my darling."

"Why are you down here? Carson said for me to meet you here but I can't understand why," she asked.

"I thought you should take a bit of a lesson," he advised coming over to her and taking her hand.

"A lesson? A lesson in what?" she questioned.

"In how to protect yourself," he nodded, kissing her fingers.

She blinked in surprise. "Protect myself? Against what, or against whom?"

"Whoever is a threat to you," he nodded. "These are changing times. London is more dangerous than before, particularly for women of your standing. I want you to be able to defend yourself should the need arise."

She looked at him curiously. "I hardly think that's necessary. Whenever I venture out, I'm with a driver or footman. Richard doesn't allow me to travel alone."

"Maybe, but relying on his staff could be rather tenuous in certain situations," he replied. He didn't want to explicitly point out that her husband was the true threat, but seeing how Henry had put his hands on her weeks ago at dinner convinced him that he needed to try and help her learn to keep herself safe. Once she left Downton, she would be beyond his reach again, and surrounded by those she could not trust. If she had to rely upon herself alone, he wanted to help her become as formidable as possible.

She arched her eyebrow, wondering what he was implying. "Well, if we're going to be practising combat, shouldn't I be in more comfortable clothes?"

He shook his head. "My darling, an assailant rarely allows you to change into more casual clothes before getting on with his assault. Now, come over to the mirror."

He led her over to the far wall, which was covered in shiny glass. Standing next to her, he looked at their reflection.

"Make a fist for me please," he instructed.

She sighed and raised her hand, curling her fingers into a fist.

"Very good," he nodded, taking her by the wrist. "Now, open."

She spread her fingers as he asked.

"Good. What I want you to remember is that the fist is absolutely useless," he stated. "You're more likely to break the bones in your hand with a single punch than cause your opponent any real discomfort. When you strike, an open hand is far easier and safer, and can be even more effective."

She frowned. "You wish for me to slap a grown man into submission?"

He smiled. "Yes, exactly."

Her face showed her clear disbelief.

"What you must always remember is that defence is not designed to defeat an opponent. A man will normally be taller, larger and stronger than you. Given enough time, he would win every contest. What you want is to put him off balance and give yourself the chance to escape. If it's merely a drunken dolt looking to get a bit fresh, a well-placed slap should be enough to send him scurrying away. If he's more determined, so must you be."

She swallowed and paid attention as he showed her the different points on his body that were weakest to a blow – the side of the neck, the throat, even the eyes and nose. She shuddered remembering back to Henry groping her in the dark nightclub and Richard stalking through the house after coming home from a night of revelry. Her husband very rarely lost control. He was obsessed with pulling the strings on people's lives, and even though he drank as much as the next man, he seldom allowed himself to become belligerent or rude. Still, there were nights where he came home with a glazed look in his eye, and it was all she could do to retire to her bedroom before he got any deplorable ideas.

"Now, inevitably you will find yourself in the grasp of a man at some point," he continued. "What is important to remember is that struggling only wears down your own energy and that you have a very small window to react before you'll be too overwhelmed to get away."

She nodded and watched as he turned to face her and took her wrist in his large hand. It was strange how his touch, even when firm and commanding, never felt uncomfortable to her. Her emotions had run ragged since this morning when she tried to leave, and yet being with him here, discussing such a strange topic as how to defend herself against an assault, wasn't unpleasant at all. As he tugged her towards him, a shot of adrenaline jolted her, her senses coming afire.

"It is far better to lean towards the threat," he advised. "With all of your weight behind your blows, you can do far more damage, and what is more, he'll be off balance as he will expect you to pull back in the other direction, allowing you to send him down with any luck."

She arched her eyebrow and nodded before swinging at his face.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, turning his head, her hand glancing off his hair harmlessly. He maintained his secure grip on her other arm and parried most of her attacks away as they rained down on him.

Her surprise move made him back up and she seized the chance to slip her foot behind his. His own weight did the rest, sending him toppling down to the floor with a shocked thud, his hand slipping from her wrist. She pounced upon him and pinned his arms to his sides, sitting across his stomach and smirking down at him triumphantly.

"Erm," he swallowed, looking up at her. "This would be your chance to get up and run away from your terrible assailant."

She nodded. "Oh, I think I've disarmed him quite thoroughly."

She leaned down and gave him a soft kiss before elegantly rising back to her feet.

"How did you know how to trip me like that?" he asked, slowly standing back up and smoothing out his shirt.

"Darling, I'm not completely helpless," she laughed. "I was beating off randy teenagers since before my debut."

He smiled wryly and nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Your lessons do appear helpful, however," she allowed, walking back over to the mirror. "Shall we practice again?"

He chuckled and rejoined her. "Yes. Perhaps you should learn how to block with your arms next."

She smiled and watched as he demonstrated how to deflect her attacker's punches by holding her arms up and parrying, telling her to keep her eyes on his, rather than looking at his hands. She hoped she would never have to use any of the moves he taught her, for in a crunch, she expected she would be paralyzed with fear. However, watching how diligent and focused he was on training her to protect herself, she felt valued and cherished, two emotions that had become foreign to her in recent years, but that had reappeared all through the past month.

* * *

"We must talk."

Matthew frowned and looked up from his book. Mary came over and sat down on his bed, her robe shifting as she moved, the open collar showing off a distracting amount of her creamy skin.

"If you intend to have a serious conversation, I question your choice of attire," he noted, glancing at her pointedly.

She smirked. "Well, I seem to have run out of undergarments. I wasn't expecting to be spending more nights here, if you recall."

He nodded. "I'm well aware. Would you like to borrow something? I just happen to have some pieces that might fit you quite well, though I've hidden them away for safekeeping."

She rolled her eyes. "They were meant as a gift."

"They were taken in that exact spirit," he grinned.

She huffed, smiling and shaking her head. "If I had known that the arrogant, middle-class solicitor from Manchester that I met that day so many years ago would turn out to be a honey-tongued Casanova, well…"

"Well, what?" he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Well, perhaps it would not have taken so many years for us to finally come around to each other," she teased.

He took her hand and kissed it warmly. "A seducer, I am not, for if I am, I am the slowest and most inefficient of the kind."

"And yet you've had your way with me for nearly an entire month," she noted, smiling at him.

"I prefer to say that we've enjoyed ourselves together," he countered. "Saying that I've had my way with you implies that you had to be swayed or worse."

She laughed and nodded. "I did not take much convincing, granted."

He smiled lovingly at her and kissed her hand again. "Now, what was it that we had to talk about?"

She nodded and resumed her serious expression. "It's about when I do finally leave. I want you to be prepared for what will come next."

He frowned. "Which is?"

She sighed. "I love you with everything that I am. However, once Richard returns, I must go back to being his wife, and that means that I must hide away parts of myself so that I can endure through each day as Lady Mary Carlisle."

He nodded slowly. "Go on."

"He'll want to know what happened between us," she explained. "He'll ask me, and I'll need to convince him that I spent the month here and the most we did was kiss. He can't know anything more."

"Of course," he nodded. "That's between us alone. He has no right to know."

"Yes, but he'll be mad with jealousy all the same. To placate him, I must act as if being in your company was boring and uneventful," she continued.

He looked at her ruefully. "All right."

"It's part of the act, you see," she implored him to understand. "He won't allow us to be anywhere near each other in the coming months. The only way for him to see you as not a threat, and therefore make our lives much easier, is to show him that I feel nothing for you."

He scoffed. "If you believe that is necessary, fine. I don't see how any of that makes my life any easier. I'll be without you. There is nothing easy about that."

She cringed at the tension in his voice. "On the rare occasion that we do run into each other, he'll try and goad you. You know how he is – he must always believe that he has the advantage. Please, darling, please promise me that you won't bicker with him. Please promise me that you'll just ignore whatever it is he says or does."

"I can assure you that ignoring Carlisle will be my absolute pleasure," he grumbled.

She nodded. "You must pay no attention to the things that I say. If you meet us at a party, I'll be the dutiful wife, smiling at him and laughing at his jokes, taking his arm when offered, dancing with him, and even avoiding you. It's what is expected of me."

He grit his teeth at the idea of Mary actually seeming to enjoy Carlisle's company, whether she was putting on an act or not. He recalled the way she hosted her husband's guests that night at the poker match, speaking so glowingly of him and all that he had done for charity and the arts. Her words had gotten on his nerves that evening. He could only imagine how bad he would take it to see the two of them together. Still, he knew she was right. He suspected that Carlisle only invited him to play cards so he could flaunt his marriage to Mary in his face. The man simply didn't know how to leave things alone.

He blinked at the thought, his mind working.

"Very well," he managed eventually. "You may cackle with him about me as much as you like."

She reached over and caressed his cheek. "Thank you, Matthew. Truly."

He took her hand in his. "I want terms for my restraint."

She arched her eyebrow. "Terms?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I will play the role of the pathetic puppy longing for your regard and giving up on ever receiving it just to boost your husband's petty ego, so long as you do something for me."

She frowned. "Such as?"

He gave her a hard stare. "You will promise me that when I free you from his despicable hold, you will have the courage to leave him."

She blinked. "Oh, Matthew. We must be realistic."

"I am being entirely realistic and completely serious," he nodded.

She shook her head. "Once I leave here, you must move on with your life. You must focus on another, whether it be Lady Anne or someone else. We must be grateful for the time that we shared, and live our lives as best we can under the circumstances."

"You're only saying that because you've become so used to being a slave to circumstance," he objected. "I know that you cannot move against him out of fear for what the repercussions may be. I will do the heavy lifting for you, but you must take the final step yourself. Promise me that you will."

She sighed. "I will promise, if only to give you some small comfort. I do not expect to ever have to deliver."

"Be that as it may, you have promised," he stated.

She leaned forward and kissed him softly. His hands moved up her back.

"I'm wearing your ring now, aren't I?" she whispered. "I've pledged myself to you, as empty as such a vow may be given that I'm already married to another. If somehow you are able to save me, you won't need to send a car to collect me. I'll run here."

He chuckled and kissed her lightly. "We can discuss those arrangements if the need ever arises. I don't know what can be done. I know that I can't kill him and I know that it all seems final, but I won't give up."

"I just don't want you to waste your life," she confessed.

"And I don't want to spend my life wondering if there was something else that I could have done," he retorted. "We are agreed, then."

She nodded. "We are."

"Excellent," he smiled.

"I shouldn't encourage any of this," she shook her head, straddling his lap and kissing him softly. "I'm already ruined. I shouldn't ruin your life as well."

He smiled, his hands moving down her back and resting on her bottom. "Since when did the notoriously spoiled Lady Mary Crawley become so selfless?"

She laughed and kissed him again. "I'm not selfless. I'm actually quite selfish."

"How so?" he looked up at her in amusement.

She sat up and arched her eyebrow at him before untying her robe and slipping it off of her naked body. "Because whether we only have two days left or two lifetimes, I'll never get enough of having you. I find I simply cannot resist these cravings."

He grinned and threw her robe on to the floor. "Neither can I. We are agreed yet again, it seems. But you haven't ruined anything, Mary. You've given me life once again, healed me when I thought all was lost."

She smiled and kissed him, teasing him with her tongue before kissing her way along his jaw to his ear.

"I want to thank you for stopping me from leaving," she whispered sultrily. "Be still and let me love you."

He groaned as she moved down his body, her breasts pressed delightfully against his bare skin while her lips and tongue traced a path across his chest and stomach. His pyjamas were quickly discarded and she made sure he was watching attentively before she took him into her mouth.

"So good," he rasped, staring in awe as she pleased him. Her fingers massaged him all over while her mouth took more and more of him with each plunge. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his legs tightening from her ministrations.

"Mary, you must stop, darling," he warned after several heavenly minutes, raising up to reach for her.

She shoved him back down with a firm push, her rhythm and pace growing faster. The feel of her warm mouth and the lurid sounds from her throat pushed him closer and closer to the edge. He stared at her with wide eyes, not believing what was seemingly about to happen.

Her fingers moved from his thigh to slip between his legs. One loving touch was all it took.

"God, Mary!" he shouted, raising up just as she sealed her lips around him. Their eyes met as he shook, the apology on his lips melting as she moaned around him.

He fell back to the bed, running his hand through his hair in stunned disbelief. He managed to keep his eyes open to see her lift up and clean him with her tongue. Arching her eyebrow playfully, she licked her finger before smiling and kissing her way back up his body.

"Oh, darling, that was incredible," he gasped. "Are you all right?"

She laughed freely and kissed his chest. "Of course. I've been wanting to do that for you for quite some time."

He blinked at her admission. "It wasn't unpleasant?"

She shook her head and blushed. "No. Not at all, actually. The idea did disgust me when I first heard about such a thing years ago, but not with you. I take it that you enjoyed it?"

"I believe that 'enjoyed' is a highly inadequate description," he shook his head. "I never imagined that you would ever do that."

She smirked up at him. "Never?"

He smiled stupidly. "Well, I did imagine the thought of it quite often, but I never would have asked it of you."

She kissed him lightly. "And yet you did the same for me so willingly. Is it so shocking to you that I would want to give you such pleasure in return, or that I enjoy it just as much as you?"

He shook his head in disbelief. "To be honest, I never did think of it that way."

She laughed and slapped his chest lightly. "I love pleasing you, my darling. We're supposed to be enjoying ourselves together aren't we? You shouldn't have to be the one making all of the effort."

He chuckled. "Well, thanks to your prowess, I won't be making much of an effort anytime soon, I'm afraid. You've rendered me quite useless."

She smiled and snuggled against him. "I don't believe that's true at all. Your powers of recuperation are most impressive if I am any judge."

"Well, I certainly won't leave you unfulfilled," he promised. "There are other ways that I can satisfy you."

"You've proven that quite conclusively, yes," she laughed. "However, I want all of you."

He groaned as she pressed against him and kissed his chest. His hand moved along her bare back, his blood rushing through his veins from the feel of her so close to him.

"I know I've called you the insatiable one, darling, but the fact is that you've made me a wanton woman," she whispered, kissing him across his chest, up to his shoulder and along his neck. "It's entirely sordid of me to admit it, but I love feeling you inside of me."

"Oh, Mary," he sighed, kissing her before she pulled away and resumed her teasing of his throat and ear.

"You fill me so well," she drawled. "I've never been with a man as big as you. Just the thought of all the things you do to me makes me quite randy."

He breathed out harshly as her hand moved down to caress him lightly.

"We have all night, Matthew," she smiled kissing his cheek. "I want you to fuck me over and over. I want to feel you spend inside of me."

"God!" he exclaimed, his mind lit with the lurid images of what she was suggesting, and his arousal soon followed.

"Mmm, yes, that's it," she smiled, stroking him slowly. "I don't want this to end, Matthew. I want you to have me again, even after our month is over. We'll find a way. We can sneak off during one of my parties while Richard is distracted. I'll get down on my knees and let you use my mouth with my husband mere steps away."

"Fuck!" he snarled, giving in to the fantasy.

"Do you want to have me at Haxby, darling?" she continued. "I'll bend over for you on the very poker table where you won me from him in the first place. I love how you bet on me, Matthew, how you bet on us. Fuck me in my husband's house and make me scream to the ceiling how much better you are than him!"

He growled and quickly sat up, seizing her and kissing her fiercely. He turned her over on to her front and she followed eagerly, grasping the bedpost and arching her back to open herself up to him. Taking hold of her hips, he moved behind her and pushed against her bottom, the feel of her stirring his arousal all the while.

She reached back and pulled him to her, turning her head to kiss him heatedly. "No one has ever had me like this," she confessed, grinding herself back against him. "I love the way it feels when you take me this way, how you make me yours."

They moved together, his hands roaming her body, caressing her breasts before sliding down to stroke her heated core and back up to tease her open mouth. She swayed her hips back and forth, the curves of her bottom against him and the feel of her in his arms slowly coaxing him to respond.

"Mary," he sighed, kissing her shoulder and back. "I love you. I love you."

She threw her head back and moaned when he finally pushed in deep once more. Her mind marvelled at how he was able to go again so quickly, yet even that thought was obliterated by the searing pleasure that overtook her. She held on to the bedpost tightly and took all of him, the feel of his hold on her hips and his insistent thrusts driving her to her first release.

As she called his name and drowned in the bliss that washed through her, no thought was given to time. The night was endless before them, the possibilities of all the ways they would love each other completely boundless. All that mattered was that they were together, the memories of all that they had done to live on in their hearts and souls for eternity.

 **Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, November 1921**

The wind was uncomfortably cold, but all of the servants stood in two tight rows outside the house, arms at their sides, heads bowed, faces stoic, a bizarre guard of honour leading to the front entrance. They all silently urged the driver to move faster to go around and open the rear door of the saloon. The sooner they welcomed their Master home, the sooner they could go back inside.

Mary stood on her own at the end of the makeshift aisle. Her chin was raised and her expression placid. Though she was equally under-dressed for standing around outside in November, she showed no sign of discomfort. When Richard emerged from the car with his usual arrogant smirk, she smiled at him. Lady Mary Carlisle was dutifully welcoming her Lord back to his home.

Richard ignored the driver and the servants as he always did. Though he paid them no attention, he was aware of every single man and woman who was present and noticed the smallest of transgressions, such as a loose thread or faded stain on a uniform. He strode briskly down the line until he reached Mary, stopping before her and nodding politely.

"Mary," he smiled.

"Welcome home, husband," she replied, kissing his cheek and sliding her arm around his. "I trust your business in India was profitable?"

"Not without some effort, but yes," he acknowledged, leading her into the house. "It was a worthwhile trip in the end, even if I did have to impress upon them how we do things here at home is far different from their ways in that colony."

"That's hardly surprising," she nodded. "You often need to educate businessmen here, don't you?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I do."

The servants all filed in after the couple, silently moving off to their parts of the house to resume their duties. Each of them hoped that they would not be reprimanded later by the butler for anything they did, or didn't do to their Master's satisfaction.

"Your Scotch, as well as today's papers," Mary announced when they came into the library. She went over and took her usual seat on the sofa and picked up her book. Richard took his normal seat in the large armchair and took a sip of his drink. He ignored the papers and looked at his wife instead.

"How did you get on while I was away?" he asked.

She looked up at him calmly. "Well enough, I suppose. Downton is much changed from years past."

He nodded, watching her carefully. "And how is dear Cousin Matthew?"

"The same as always – milquetoast and boring," she shrugged. "He tried quite diligently but maintaining a conversation with him was quite the task."

Her posture was rigid and elegant, but her stomach rolled as the words spilled from her mouth.

"Is that all the two of you did during your stay? Talk?" he questioned.

 _'No. We rutted like animals and it was glorious. I peaked more times in one week with him than I have with you in two years of marriage.'_

"In the beginning, he tried to impress me by showing me all the renovations he's made around the place. His builders clearly weren't as adept as yours given how shoddy the workmanship was," she shook her head.

He smiled at that. "That does sound like him. Sparing every expense."

 _'Actually, the house looks spectacular. He doesn't just hoard pretty things like you do. He's made sure to keep the house's character.'_

"He's still quite intimidated by me," she continued. "By the second week he was spending his days at the office and I only saw him during dinner. I even managed to host a dinner with Granny. Henry was there, actually. I spent most of the evening entertaining him. He says that he's looking forward to giving you papers exclusive access during his racing season."

He smiled and nodded. "That was well planned. I forgot that his aunt still lived here."

"Lady Shackleton, yes," she nodded. "I had Granny invite her and she, of course, mentioned it to Henry. It all worked out quite nicely, though Matthew was quite perturbed that I ignored him for most of the night."

He laughed and took another sip of his drink. "Such a whelp. He never demanded anything of you, did he?"

"One awkward kiss on the cheek when I first arrived, but he gave up after that dinner," she replied. "I even went to London to deal with some details for our Season parties."

He frowned. "And he allowed that?"

 _'Obviously. He allowed me to go and I allowed him to do anything he wanted to me while we were there.'_

She nodded. "He was afraid to make any demands of me at all. I probably could have returned here after a week or two, but I wanted to ensure that the obligation was met so that you wouldn't be bothered by him again."

He considered her answer carefully before nodding his head and taking another sip of his Scotch. "Good. We can consider him paid in full, then."

 _'Most definitely. On my last night there, he took full payment from your wife's bottom, and I loved every depraved second of it.'_

"I don't believe that we'll be seeing any of him for quite a while. He knows how lucky he was this time. I doubt he'll want to take you on again," she stated.

He put his glass down. "That's where you're wrong, my dear."

She blinked. "How?"

"I know him," he scoffed. "The man is utterly obsessed with you. In his twisted mind, he probably thinks a few weeks of conversation with you was akin to reviving whatever feelings you shared years ago. I expect we'll be receiving countless invitations from him."

 _'You don't know him at all.'_

"Maybe," she allowed. "I expect it's more likely to come from Mama or Edith. Regardless, you can decide how often we see him. I'm far too busy to care. There was wonderful news while you were away. Both Sybil and Edith are with child."

"Lovely," he huffed, sipping his Scotch again. "Your one sister is having an Irish half-breed and your other sister will soon welcome the heir to a glorified farm. Hardly cause for celebration."

She grit her teeth behind her closed lips. "All the same, that is what passes for excitement in my family."

He chuckled in agreement. "I suppose. When the head of it is a hopeless dullard, the smallest things can become grand events."

 _'That hopeless dullard is more of a man than you will ever be. I love him more now than I ever did before.'_

He picked up a newspaper and began skimming through it. She went back to her book, thankful for the silence that settled between them. This was only the first interrogation she would receive. He would ask her more questions over the coming weeks, surreptitiously testing her to see if her answers remained consistent and whether she was hiding anything. He would have her lady's maid search her bedroom for some hidden love letters and question his spies in London to confirm her story. She kept her cool demeanour, not even thinking about Matthew or all of the wonderful memories they shared so that a mysterious smile would not betray her. With her husband home again, she was back to playing her role as loyal and subservient wife. Still, she looked forward to retiring tonight and reliving the feel of Matthew's loving hands in the safety of the darkness of her bedroom.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1921**

"Lord Grantham," Carson announced, bowing his head before leaving the parlour.

"Matthew, there you are," Violet huffed. "I was beginning to think you that you had forgotten about me."

"I believe that would be impossible," Matthew replied, coming over and taking her hands before sitting down in the chair next to her. He refreshed her tea and poured himself a cup.

"Now, what is it that you wished to discuss?" she asked, sipping her tea and balancing the cup and saucer in her hands.

"A few things, actually. As you are well aware, it's been a week now since Mary left to go back to Haxby," he began.

"Back to her husband's home, yes," she nodded.

"Yes. With Mary gone, I now have time to look towards the coming months and how we will manage our time," he explained.

She smiled. "I'm pleased to hear that. We ought to have a proper event in London during the Season. You've done a commendable job of reviving our family fortunes. Now is the time to properly declare that our House still stands."

"I agree. Once Cora returns, we shall celebrate a proper Christmas here. I don't think that Sybil and Tom will be able to travel back, but I've written to them and invited them to return in the Spring with the baby."

"A new generation at Downton, even if the child will be a Branson," she laughed smugly. "How lovely."

"Now, in the remaining weeks, I'd like you to do something for me, for the family, actually," he nodded.

"Which is?" she enquired.

"I've written to Mother to inform her that you will be joining her in Manchester," he advised. "Her work with refugees is progressing well, and she could use a steady hand to assist her, someone well learned in management and administration, someone who is able to get results. Naturally, I thought of you."

She stared at him in shock. "I beg your pardon?"

"Is there a problem, Cousin?" he asked.

"Unmistakably so," she huffed. "Sending me to Manchester to work? Out of the question,"

"Perhaps you would not have done so in past years, but this is a new day, which I know you are so very fond of hearing. To promote our family now goes beyond merely holding parties and working for charity. We must be seen as a force, not only in the county, but beyond. Mother's work can have far reaching benefits," he nodded.

"Even if that were true, she is far better equipped to handle such work than I am," she stated.

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," he shook his head. "There is a contingent of Russian refugees due to arrive shortly. I understand you have some past experience dealing with such people."

For the first time in his life, he saw Violet Crawley stunned speechless.

"Whatever makes you believe that I would have experience dealing with Russians, in particular?" she asked cautiously.

His expression grew cold. Despite everything, he still held great affection for Cousin Violet, however, hearing about how her affair had cost Mary her future stirred a sickening feeling that he could not easily shake.

"Refugees do not accurately describe them. They all used to be nobles but were driven from their homeland following the War. They now arrive here on our shores with but a small bit of their former fortunes looking to start over, or see out their days in peace and quiet. They will need to learn to adapt to having all they knew changed so dramatically. I have every confidence that you are more than capable of teaching them how to do that."

She arched her eyebrow pointedly at him.

He met her hard stare. "After all, you've had to learn the art of shapeshifting yourself over the years, haven't you?"

She blinked but said nothing.

"I've told Mother to expect you next week. There's plenty of room in our old home for you to be comfortable. Smithers will be accompanying you, and I'm going to give Spratt the rest of the year off. It's come to my attention that the man enjoys dabbling in writing, and I expect he'll have plenty of time in the coming weeks to find his inspiration before you return for Christmas."

He looked away from her and sipped his tea.

"Will I expect to return to purgatory in the New Year, Matthew?" she asked sharply.

"That depends, Cousin," he replied, looking at her undaunted. "I shall have to see. However, regardless of where I may choose to send you, I have no doubt that you are still far better off than those who continue to suffer for your past mistakes."

She shook her head and looked down at her wrinkled hands. "Take heed of my example, then, Matthew. Recklessness motivated by love is the path to ruin."

"We shall see," he answered, his tone causing her to look up at him in surprise. "Perhaps both of us will gain a new perspective over the coming weeks."

"I expect it is useless to say so, but what's done is done, Matthew," she shook her head. "Continuing to live in the past does you no good. Changing what you wish to change is impossible."

He smiled and nodded. "Someone once told me that every mountain is unclimbable until someone climbs it. I don't care about what's possible. I care only about what is right, and I know what I want is right. That's all there is to it."

She sighed. "Well, good luck to you, then."

He sipped his tea slowly, letting the uneasy truce between them settle in for a few moments.

"Were you really willing to give up everything for him?" he asked after a while.

She frowned and sat still for a while before answering, her eyes looking vacantly somewhere, or sometime, far away.

"In the end, he wasn't willing to give up enough for me, is the more accurate statement," she answered softly.

He nodded slowly. "It's been his loss, then."

She looked over at him suspiciously. "I imagine many would disagree with you if they knew the story."

"They won't find out," he said firmly, surprising her again. "And I'm quite sure that I'm right, besides."

She stared at his determined face for a moment, as though she was seeing him for the first time. They both went back to their tea, the only sound the ticking of the large clock in the Great Hall.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, London, England, November 1921**

"How did you find the soup?" Matthew asked, smiling across the table at his dinner guest.

"It was lovely," Anne nodded, reaching for her wine. "Just the thing on a cold and dreary London night."

"Yes. I must apologize again for delaying our dinner. I wish that I had a better excuse, but I couldn't come down at the time as my schedule became quite busy," he explained.

"All that's important is that we're here now," she answered. "I was surprised to receive your call, of course, since your cousin sent me the invitation weeks ago. I'm equally surprised that it's just the two of us here, but not unpleasantly so."

She blushed slightly as she distracted herself and looked over at the flowers on the table. It wasn't like her to flirt so openly, but being alone with him finally was making her brave, or reckless, she wasn't sure which.

"That was a bit of a mix-up, but it's my fault," he admitted. "Mary thought that I was available that week and I wasn't. However, as you say, we're here now."

"That we are," she smiled, pausing as the footmen brought in their next course.

He waited for the servants to leave before continuing. "Anne, I want to be entirely honest with you."

"That sounds serious," she noted, still smiling, though a nervous twinge fluttered in her stomach.

"I am serious," he confirmed. "I don't want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I've been through relationships before where there were far too many secrets, where I was not nearly as forthright as I ought to have been."

"A man is allowed to keep his secrets," she offered, wondering where this was leading. Was he testing her to see if she would be a nagging wife?

"Some might say so, and for the sake of necessity or expediency, that might be true, but I want us to be clear with each other," he stated.

"Whatever you wish, Matthew," she nodded, a tremor of arousal and anticipation making her hand shake slightly.

"I have a highly irregular favour to ask of you," he explained. "Most women would consider it an affront and an insult, and I shall understand completely should you feel the same. I have no expectations of you, but know that I am asking with the best of intentions."

She frowned. "What exactly would you ask of me?"

He took a sip of water before continuing, looking away from her before he took a deep breath and pressed on. "Anne, do you see a future for us as man and wife?"

"Goodness, Matthew!" she exclaimed, her eyes going wide. "That is not only irregular, it is improper!"

He nodded calmly. "I ask it all the same."

She blushed and took a sip of her wine. "Since it is just the two of us here, and my parents are not present to witness my impropriety, yes, Matthew. I do very much see us married in the future."

"I see it as well," he declared. "Which is why it is so very difficult to ask this favour of you."

She blinked in confusion. "I am not following."

He nodded. "Anne, I love another. I do not tell you this to hurt you, but only to be as honest with you as I can be. My heart belongs to another woman, and I fear that it will be so for the rest of my life. I see a possible future for you and I, however, I do not wish to deceive you. I do not believe that I can love you as much as I love her, and I do not know if I ever will."

She swallowed, her stomach rebelling. "If you are asking me if you can keep a mistress, well, as I said before, men are allowed to…"

"No, that's not what I'm asking," he clarified. "If we were to marry, I would commit myself fully to you, Anne. I believe that you are kind, beautiful, clever and elegant. I would want us to get to know each other truly before we move forward, but I hold you in higher regard than any other woman."

"Save one," she noted.

He nodded. "Save one, yes. But I will not have her as my mistress."

She regarded him cautiously. "This woman you speak of, she is not available to you, is she?"

He shook his head. "No."

"But you believe that she might be?" she asked.

"I do not know," he admitted. "I know that I must make the attempt or I shall forever wonder if I did enough to be truly happy, and I cannot bring such doubts into my marriage."

"And you wish for me to wait for you to decide?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I would not trap you in such a fashion. I can promise you nothing save for if you will still have me should my efforts fail, I will be entirely devoted to you. I cannot offer you more than that, and I would not expect you to accept me on such terms."

She nodded. "Why raise it at all, then? Why not make your attempt while keeping me on the line?"

He shook his head. "I will not do that to you, Anne. You do not deserve to be anyone's placeholder. You may not see it, but I know that you have other suitors. They might have been waiting while you were in mourning before, and are now planning their approaches during the coming Season, but they are out there. There is someone for you besides me."

She smiled, unable to stop herself from blushing. There were letters from other men that her family had received, and she did have invitations already for Winter Season.

"If you do not believe that I require your sympathy or favour, then you must need something from me," she ventured. "You want me to help you with this other woman in some way."

He nodded. "I would prefer not to ask this of you, however, my allies are few, and through sheer circumstance, you are in a position to be of great assistance to me."

"Or I could betray your plans to whoever is responsible for keeping you and this woman apart, thereby ensuring that you will be mine," she countered.

He nodded slowly. "You most certainly could. No one would begrudge you from acting so ruthlessly. The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war, someone once said."

She pursed her lips, steeling herself for his argument.

"All I can tell you is that I know what it is to lose someone you love, how that pain stays with you, no matter who else may come into your life. I would not wish for that on anyone, no matter what I thought of them. I won't insult you by saying that if our situations were reversed, I would gladly assist you to find your happiness, but I will ask you just the same, for I do not believe you are ruthless, and I will continue to believe that you are good and generous."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked. "Maybe I didn't love my late husband at all? Our marriage was arranged by our fathers in the end."

"I have no right to question what your feelings for him were," he replied. "I know what you deserve – a man who is entirely in love with you. You may leave here tonight and pay no further thought to me and my request. I have every confidence that you will be married in the New Year. All I can do is ask. Should you not agree, I will find another way."

"This woman that you love? You believe that she is worth all of this effort?" she asked.

He nodded. "She is. More importantly, however, what I feel for her is worth every effort. I must see this through, to either success of failure. I would be doing both her and I a disservice otherwise."

She took a deep breath. "I cannot give you my answer until you tell me what it is that you want from me. In so doing, you risk exposing your secret and ruining your chances. I shall give you no assurances other than that I shall listen."

He nodded. "Very well. It concerns the woman that you already know as my cousin, Mary."

 **Criterion Restaurant, St. James's, Westminster, London, England, December 1921**

"Thank you for meeting with me, Sir Richard," Anne nodded, taking a grateful sip of her wine. "I know this must seem highly unusual."

"Less than you think," Richard smiled. "In my line of work, the news does not merely appear at one's doorstep. We must go out and hunt for it. Taking information from anyone and everyone, such as yourself, is part of what I do."

She put her wine glass down and pursed her lips.

"Now," he continued, watching her closely. "You mentioned that you had information regarding my wife?"

"Yes, Lady Mary," she replied. "I attended a dinner at Downton Abbey in October where your wife was present. She mentioned that you were away on business?"

"I was, yes, in India," he nodded. "I was told that you were at the dinner. I'm glad you reached out to me as I was going to call upon you myself. How do you know my wife's family?"

"Lady Mary and I shared a governess when we were children," Anne nodded. "However, I had not seen or spoken to her in many years until that night. I was a guest of Lord Grantham."

"I see," he nodded. "Go on."

"Well, Lord Grantham – Matthew – was quite attentive to me that evening, as he often is. He is quite a wonderful man, you see, and I do believe that he finds my company welcome, as I do his."

"Yes, yes," he scoffed, waving his hand. "What does my wife have to do with this?"

"Well, she was partnered with Henry Talbot that evening, the race car driver. They seemed to get along quite well, but I did notice that it bothered Matthew quite a bit to see them together," she explained.

He nodded, leaning forward slightly. "She did mention Henry to me, yes. How was Matthew bothered, would you say?"

"I caught him staring at them from time-to-time, or more accurately, at her," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "I see."

"Once we all retired, I prepared for bed, however, my room was down the hall from Lady Mary's, and my lady's maid told me the next day that she heard something rather disturbing coming from her room," she continued.

He frowned. "Disturbing, you say?"

"Yes. She told me that she heard voices, that Lady Mary seemed to be arguing with a man," she answered.

He blinked. "In her bedroom? Was your maid able to discern what they were saying?"

"She mentioned that they were arguing about Mr Talbot, sir," she noted. "There's more, though. She said that after several moments, they were no longer arguing, and she could distinctly hear them, well…goodness…this is so difficult to say aloud."

"Try," he urged her.

She cringed and looked at him in fear. "She said she heard them together, sir, and that they were no longer arguing."

His eyes went wide. Taking a moment to compose himself, he looked away before returning to her anxious expression. "I must speak to your maid."

"I expected that you would want to," she nodded. "She's waiting for me outside in the car. I'll send her in to see you. I wanted her to meet with you here rather than somewhere perhaps a bit more intimidating and such."

"That's quite wise. Yes, send her in. You can tell her that you're just dining with an old friend who may need her to recommend a servant," he suggested.

"That's brilliant. Yes, I will," she nodded, rising from the table.

He stood respectfully and saw her leave. Sitting back down, he sipped his Scotch and seethed. He didn't know what this maid would have to tell, but if Mary and Matthew were alone in her bedroom at Downton, that was already infuriating. She had told him nothing occurred between them, repeated it over and over for the past month. If he had caught her in a lie, he would see that she was made to suffer.

"Sir Richard."

He blinked at the sound of a male voice and looked up. His mouth fell open as Matthew nodded to him and took the seat across the table.

"Matthew," Richard said carefully. "What are you doing here?"

"Dining with you, of course. I thought that it was time we had a bit of a chat, and you are terribly difficult to get a hold of," Matthew explained. He called the waiter over, who replaced Anne's wine glass and water glass with fresh ones.

"You could have made an appointment through my office," Richard suggested, his mind working at trying to decipher what was afoot.

"I think it better that we meet on neutral ground with plenty of people around us," Matthew replied, nodding his head to the full dining room. "It ensures that we will both remain polite."

"I suppose that depends on what the topic of our conversation shall be, though I can surely guess," Richard stated. "My wife, correct?"

"It does concern Mary, yes," Matthew nodded.

"What could you possibly have to tell me about your cousin that required such theatrics?" Richard asked.

"Firstly, we both know that she is not my cousin," Matthew answered, looking at him unwaveringly. "Secondly, we also both know why I would want to talk to you about her. This will all go far more smoothly if you at least attempt to not be as deceptive and manipulative as you normally are."

Richard glared at him with rage in his eyes.

"More Scotch, Sir Richard?" a waiter asked innocently, coming over to the table and gesturing towards his empty glass.

"Make it a double," Matthew ordered, keeping his hard stare on Carlisle's frowning face. "We're going to be here for a while."


	11. Chapter 11

**Previously:**

 **Criterion Restaurant, St. James's, Westminster, London, England, December 1921**

"I think it better that we meet on neutral ground with plenty of people around us," Matthew replied, nodding his head to the full dining room. "It ensures that we will both remain polite."

"I suppose that depends on what the topic of our conversation shall be, though I can surely guess," Richard stated. "My wife, correct?"

"It does concern Mary, yes," Matthew nodded.

"What could you possibly have to tell me about your cousin that required such theatrics?" Richard asked.

"Firstly, we both know that she is not my cousin," Matthew answered, looking at him unwaveringly. "Secondly, we also both know why I would want to talk to you about her. This will all go far more smoothly if you at least attempt to not be as deceptive and manipulative as you normally are."

Richard glared at him with rage in his eyes.

"More Scotch, Sir Richard?" a waiter asked innocently, coming over to the table and gesturing towards his empty glass.

"Make it a double," Matthew ordered, keeping his hard stare on Carlisle's frowning face. "We're going to be here for a while."

 **Chapter 11:**

 **Carlisle Manor, Belgrave Square, Belgravia, London, England, December 1921**

"Matthew."

Mary's eyes fell closed as the hot water rained down over her. Steam fogged the glass of the shower, the smooth surface just a few degrees cooler than her naked skin. Her head rolled about her shoulders, the whisper of her lover's name floating from her lips and into the hot air.

"Mmm, Matthew…" she breathed, her one hand playing with her breast, while the other traced circles over her stomach.

Since returning from Downton, she had thrown herself into her work. The Winter Season had arrived and every day brought more tasks and planning for another one of her events and parties. Being away for a month had set her back a bit, and made the servants a bit complacent in her absence. She used the two weeks before Richard's return to re-establish discipline in her household and prepare for the move to London. At no time did she dare even think of Matthew.

Though she didn't wish to dwell upon it, she was never entirely left alone, either here or at Haxby. Richard's staff were all watching her and reporting back to him, she was sure of it. Even Mildred, her lady's maid, could not be trusted. The gulf between Mistress and servant was more clearly defined in Richard's house, and she never felt the same kinship with the older woman that she had with Anna. Even worse, she dared not keep a diary or letters, lest they be discovered. Something as simple as smiling while remembering the many joyful memories she now held was dangerous. There was nowhere in the vast properties that Richard owned where she felt she had complete privacy, except for here in her ensuite bathroom shower.

"Matthew," she moaned softly, her fingers deftly stoking her arousal. Through most of November she didn't think about him at all, running herself ragged so she could safely sleep without dreaming of him at night. When they reached London, though, and Richard was barely ever home, her mind wandered. She couldn't risk sending word to Matthew that she was in the city. She suspected he knew regardless, but reaching out to him was too reckless. For these brief moments, though, with Richard gone to some business dinner this evening, and the servants all downstairs, she could do what she wanted, think and feel what she wanted, the noise of the shower and the closed door to her bedroom shielding her from the world.

"Oh, Matthew, fuck me," she hissed, her hand slipping down between her legs. Her imagination brought her back to Downton, back to his bed. She was on her back one moment, straddling him the next, and on all fours after that, each vivid memory linked together by the firm thrust of his hips and the uninhibited cries that tumbled from her mouth. God, she was loud with him. Ear piercingly loud. Whether it was due to some secret part of her wanting to be caught and found out, or the confidence of having an empty house to enjoy, she didn't know, but he could make her scream like no one else and over the course of the month, he seemed to enjoy doing just that.

Though she had loved Matthew for years, her feelings towards him were always idyllic and tame. He was the best man she knew, even with his flaws. Kissing him for the first time in the dining room after Sybil's rebellion had been surprising and wonderful. Laughing with him and flirting with him over the years had been invigorating. Even watching him play cricket or tennis showed her a different side to him that was rugged and fierce, but she always thought of him as a gentleman above all. He was kind, generous, respectful and proper.

October had changed her impression conclusively, much to her delight.

Amongst all of the shame and regret she felt over her incident with Kemal Pamuk, particularly troubling was the lust and excitement that the man incited within her from the first moment she saw him. He was so different – handsome, yes, but exotic as well, while still retaining the good manners and witty conversation of a refined diplomat. Back then, compared to Evelyn, who she saw as boring and bland, and Matthew, who she immaturely blamed for stealing her birthright, Kemal was an olive-skinned Adonis, promising to free her from the monotony and hopelessness of her life. She never thought of the Duke of Crowborough, Evelyn, or any other suitor with any amount of passion, but Kemal filled her with scandalous thoughts. Whether it was the forbidden nature of flirting with a foreigner, or even the boldness of teasing a man she just met, being in his presence that night was intoxicating and aroused her like no one had ever done before.

Until he went too far and the allure was replaced by cold, heart-stopping fear.

In the years after, she fell in love with Matthew and met Richard. Both of those relationships were far more substantial than what illusion existed between her and Kemal, but she couldn't deny that she felt something uniquely enticing at first with the Turk, as fleeting and false as it proved to be. Like the stain on her past that Kemal's death would always be, the feelings that he stirred within her so long ago could never be forgotten, desires that always seemed so wrong and sinful given the dark path they had led her down. Yet still, it was impossible to deny how alive she felt in flirting with him during the Hunt and over dinner, even after he wrongly stole a kiss from her. That dark addiction buried inside of her would never be fed again, and there was a small part of her that despaired at that.

Until this past October, much to her shock and joy.

"Matthew, oh God, you're so good," she gasped, her fingers now building her up with singular intent.

When she and Matthew finally made love, it was beautiful and cleansing. Though as wonderful as their first time was, it was the weeks that followed which affected her more profoundly. She discovered a hunger for him, a desire and need that made whatever she thought she felt for Kemal seem as a weak candle when compared against the all-powerful heat of the sun. The things she did with Matthew still shocked her now months later, everything that he taught her, all the new experiences she eagerly embraced. It all stemmed from discovering that something within her that she thought Kemal's death and her lifeless marriage had already destroyed.

Lust. Want. Craving. This time for a man that she loved fully and completely.

She was thrilled that not only did being with Matthew so intimately reaffirm her love for him, but it also made her see him as a fierce lover. He was devastatingly handsome and fit, his bare body that she had glimpsed when he was lying on a gurney broken and unconscious, was now tight and firm, and demanding to be kissed and caressed. His blue eyes, so comforting and warm before, became piercing and hypnotizing, setting her blood afire with a single glance. Even though these newfound emotions only made it all the more difficult to leave him in the end, they helped make their month together so very unforgettable. To know that the man she loved was also the man she desired above all others was liberating, as though she could embrace any decadent or depraved thought that came to mind since it was for him and him alone. Part of her feasted on the idea that she was the only one who could rouse the same primal need within him, that he would never act the same way with anyone else. What they did was wrong, but she could never be ashamed of any of it. Being able to truly give herself to him in every sense made their short time together all the more beautiful.

Now, here in her husband's London home, she thought of Matthew as her fingers moved faster, the memory of the many times he had her in the shower at Downton only adding to her delirium.

"Yes, darling, yes," she cried as quietly as she could. "Take me. I'm yours."

She sent herself over the edge to the image of his adoring face leering at her, and for a brief moment that ended all too soon, she was deliriously happy.

 **Criterion Restaurant, St. James's, Westminster, London, England, December 1921**

Richard watched Matthew carefully, looking for some sign of nerves or discomfort. His appetite had left him the moment the man had sat down at his table. His salad remained on his plate, barely picked at. The blond-haired, blue-eyed smiling rogue, however, was polishing his off easily.

"What do you want, Matthew?" Richard asked finally. "I have no wish to dine with you, and I expect you feel the same about me. Let's get to it, shall we?"

"You've barely touched your salad," Matthew noted, reaching for his wine glass and taking a sip. "The kitchen will feel aggrieved if you end up sending the whole thing back."

Richard frowned and made no move to lift his fork.

Matthew set his wine glass down. "I think you're well aware of what I want. It's going to be a lengthy conversation, so we may as well enjoy the food, even if the company isn't nearly as welcome to either of us."

"I can easily shorten any such conversation," Richard nodded. "Mary is my wife and will remain so. We swore vows to each other. I believe you were a witness to that. What more is there to discuss?"

"Clearly I take a different view," Matthew replied, sitting back comfortably in his chair.

"On what, exactly?" Richard asked.

"On just how much longer Mary will remain your wife, and just how much we have to discuss as a result," Matthew answered.

Richard's eyes narrowed and he slowly took a sip of his Scotch. "Believe what you like. Nothing compels me to listen."

"No, but you will," Matthew nodded.

Richard glared at him. "You're so very sure, are you?"

Matthew took another sip of wine. "You're a businessman above all, aren't you, Sir Richard? Your very life is built upon the idea that you never dismiss anything out of hand. You never know when the next big story could come from, when the next opportunity could appear. You always pursue every lead. That's why you agreed to meet with Anne. That's how I knew you would meet with her."

Richard scowled for a moment before calming himself. He ran his fingers lightly across the smooth linen of the tablecloth, keeping his eyes locked on Matthew. "A man in my position also knows when to stop chasing after a story that doesn't exist. I'm coming very close to leaving you and going home to my wife, Matthew."

Matthew shook his head. "You won't go anywhere just yet. You're curious as to what I have to say."

Richard scoffed. "I have no interest in listening to you beg me to release Mary to you. Not only is it a childish dream, but it is impossible, as you well know."

"I'm not asking you to release Mary to me," Matthew said easily. "I want you to free her so she can live her life."

Richard chuckled and shook his head. "Still impossible. Why would I ever do that?"

"You'll do anything if you can profit from it," Matthew declared. "That is what you do, isn't it?"

"I don't want your money," Richard waved his hand dismissively. "You don't have enough for what you're asking, besides."

"I'm not going to pay you for Mary's freedom," Matthew stated.

"You have nothing else of any value to me to even consider such a request," Richard retorted. "What does that leave you with? Threats?"

Matthew smiled. "Do you think me capable of that?"

Richard considered the idea. "You have killed, haven't you? When properly motivated, a man is capable of many things."

"Ah, but you've ensured that killing you won't do any of us any good, haven't you? While ridding the world of your presence may be beneficial to some, the secrets that you keep would all be revealed following your death, wouldn't they?" Matthew reasoned.

Richard smiled and nodded. "I'm pleased to see you understand that."

"I'm not going to kill you, Sir Richard," Matthew stated. "As you alluded to, I've done more than enough of that already."

"Fine," Richard nodded. "If you aren't willing to bribe me or threaten me, how do you expect to free Mary from my hold, then? You aren't going to do something so foolish as to suggest a poker match, are you?"

Matthew frowned. "No, not at all. I beat you once already with the odds decidedly against me. I should hate to see what unfair advantages you will come up with should we battle a second time."

Richard huffed and shook his head bitterly. "Then what, Matthew? What could you possibly do to have me go along with any ludicrous scheme you've concocted?"

Matthew took a deep breath, his blue eyes not showing a hint of uncertainty. "By convincing you that it's in your best interest to do so, of course."

Richard's eyes narrowed as the waiter arrived with their next course.

 **Carlisle Manor, Belgrave Square, Belgravia, London, England, December 1921**

Mary tied the sash of her robe and went to sit down at her vanity. Her wet hair hung loosely down to her neck and her long nightgown swept down to her feet. Since returning to Haxby, she had gone back to wearing the matronly outfits she was used to at night. Her lacy negligees and camisoles had been left behind with Matthew, and she didn't want to wear anything modern or revealing lest Mildred report it back to Richard. Even the beautiful silk robe that Matthew bought her in London was hanging in her old bedroom at Downton, never to be worn again. Rubbing cream into her hands, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, her pale face scrubbed clean from the shower. She was the Lady Mary Carlisle once more, for better or for worse.

With her shorter hair, she tended not to rely upon Mildred to prepare for bed. It was easy enough for her to put on her own clothes and brush her own hair. These rare moments of solitude were precious to her even in the early days of her marriage. The time alone helped her relax and prepare for the days ahead. In the beginning, that meant anticipating Richard's moods and learning his demands. Now, it was more ensuring she stayed out of his way as much as possible.

They could be a great team, he had promised her once. Two ambitious people going after what they wanted in life. It was the sort of arrangement that she always envisioned growing up. Running a respected House and supporting a powerful husband. It wasn't as if her time with Richard was always defined by scandal and secret deals. In the beginning, she found him intriguing, so different from the men she was used to, and the complete opposite of Matthew. At a time in her life when she was convinced that she was not entitled to happiness, he presented a viable option. With more and more noble clans decimated by the War and her own family secrets casting a pall over her future, marrying Richard would ensure her survival. She convinced herself that he was a wise choice, even after he gained the power to destroy her and everyone she held dear.

She could be content with Richard, she believed back then. He wasn't very handsome, but he was attractive enough. He wasn't well-versed on her level of etiquette, but he was polite enough. She wasn't happy with him, but content was enough.

Love didn't matter and was never considered. That wasn't who they were, he said, and she agreed. Why would it have been otherwise? Matthew was engaged to another woman. Love in her marriage was no longer possible, but respectful companionship would be enough.

Two years in and she no longer believed any of that. Richard's status had risen dramatically, but his manners and behaviour were as rough as ever. Instead of respectful companionship, she had forced servitude. Even worse, with Papa gone and her sisters married, her motivation for guarding the family honour waned constantly under the harsh brunt of all she had to endure. The pride and satisfaction she drew from the constant compliments over her hosting abilities and fashion sense became all the more hollow with each passing Season. This was the life she chose, but it seemed so incomplete now.

Her eyes wandered to her jewellery tray, her wedding and engagement rings sitting out in full view. She used to take great care of her rings so that she wouldn't draw Richard's anger if she were to lose them down the shower drain or something. Now though, her wedding band was priceless to her for a different reason. It was the proof of her pledge to Matthew, a constant reminder of the time they shared and the promise they made. A tie that bound her to him. It was but a token, and carried no magic, but it was a comfort to her, a talisman that her husband would never suspect or take away.

How odd, she thought with a small smile. Being Richard's woman was a daily struggle for her. Yet, the idea of being Matthew's gave her strength. How many women in her position had made pragmatic choices rather than holding out for their one true love? All of her friends in Society had married the men their parents had come to arrangements with. Particularly after the War had claimed so many of the aristocracy, settling for a husband was common and encouraged. Ironically, that was exactly what Papa and Mama wanted her to do when Matthew first arrived years ago. She had grown to love him without even realizing it, but to expect such a miracle to happen with Richard was beyond foolish.

She took up her brush and began straightening out her hair for bed. It would be hours yet before Richard returned from his business dinner and she wanted to be firmly ensconced in her bedroom long before then. They were both so busy that she didn't expect him to call upon her to attend to him anytime soon. That was more than acceptable. After a month with Matthew, doing her duty to Richard was now numbingly tedious.

A warmth flared in her chest as her rebellious mind dared to compare the two men. It wasn't healthy for her to have such thoughts. She would never be free to go to Matthew. That was apparent even before he won a month with her in that poker match. Thinking of how much better he was at loving her, how he could make her feel things that no other man had ever done was pointless now. Glancing around the room nervously, she pursed her lips and continued brushing her hair, banishing the fantasy of one day becoming his wife from her thoughts. Lady Mary Carlisle did not have time to waste on fairy tales.

 **Criterion Restaurant, St. James's, Westminster, London, England, December 1921**

"I'm surprised at you, Matthew," Richard shrugged. "I thought you were smarter than this."

Matthew kept his face guarded, his pulse as calm as he could. Remaining composed while sitting across the table from Carlisle took all of his strength. He wanted to leap over and throttle the man, beat him within an inch of his life. He also wanted to beg him to let Mary go, promise to pay him anything and everything to make it happen, if that's what it took. This desperate gambit could fail at any moment, and he needed to keep his wits about him. It had but a tiny chance of succeeding anyway, but he knew he had to try, and doing it now, with Mary's stay at Downton still fresh in her husband's mind, was the best opportunity he was going to get.

"Is that so?" Matthew noted lightly. Insults and barbs were going to fly throughout the meal. Another one wasn't going to faze him.

"Yes," Richard nodded. "The fact that you can't trust Mary to leave me on her own should tell you all you require regarding this futile exercise, and yet here you are. _Once more unto the breach_ , and all that."

Matthew frowned for a moment. "You are well aware of how trapped Mary is given the circumstances."

Richard smiled devilishly. "Oh, I am well aware, but you seem to believe that you can provide her with a way out of this supposed dilemma. Are you so sure that she would take it?"

Matthew reached for his water to distract himself.

"Let's say that I agree," Richard mused, smirking at Matthew's surprised expression. "What will you do when Mary refuses to go? Do you honestly believe that she would accept a life as a divorced woman? Let's put aside the rest of it – Pamuk, Lady Grantham's Russian affair, that business with your former valet and his wife. Do you truly think that Mary would accept a life with you isolated out in Yorkshire, shunned by Society? Is that who you truly think she is?"

"I don't need to inform you of how her love for Downton trumps almost everything else," Matthew shot back. "It's why you bought Haxby, isn't it? To be close to her childhood home? You're not one for the country life at all, are you, Sir Richard? You love it here in the city. This is your domain. Yet, you keep residence in a decaying relic of another era up in Yorkshire. Why is that? Because you like the fresh air?"

Richard's confident smirk turned into a sneer.

"What Mary ultimately decides is up to her, of course," Matthew continued. "I'm proposing a way out for both of you that ends up benefitting everyone in the end."

"Why would I possibly want that?" Richard scoffed. "Having Mary as my wife is what I want. You're proposing to end all that."

"You don't want her," Matthew shook his head. "A man who truly cares for his wife doesn't put her through the trials that you do."

"If you're referring to the time that she spends with Henry Talbot and others, she's gone through all of that without complaint," Richard replied. "The only man she's told me she didn't particularly care to spend time with was you."

Matthew bit back the stinging retort that was begging to be unleashed. He knew Carlisle suspected they had become lovers during their month together, or at least that Matthew had tried to make it so. He couldn't set him off now by boasting about just what he got up to with Mary during her stay.

"I wasn't able to sway her," Matthew lied. "I needed more time."

"You had a full month," Richard laughed with glee. "I suppose it isn't surprising since you had Mary to yourself for years and weren't able to convince her to accept you even with no competition. Actually, that's not true. You did lose out to a dead man at one point, didn't you?"

Matthew curled his fingers into a fist beneath the table.

"Your devotion to my wife, as misguided as it is, would seem adorable to some, but I grow bored of it, and of you," Richard continued. "Do not attempt to tell me what I want and do not want, Matthew. I have her. You don't."

"For now," Matthew said tightly.

Richard glared at him. "How dare you? You think yourself so superior, don't you?"

"No, I don't," Matthew stated sincerely. "The truth is, Sir Richard, you and I are very much alike."

Richard laughed incredulously, not bothering to keep his voice down. "What?"

"I'm just as horrified to admit it as you are to hear it, I assure you," Matthew smiled wryly. "However, we both come from humble beginnings. Edinburgh isn't so different from Manchester. We both had demanding fathers and mothers who tended to coddle us. We both pursued careers as a way to improve our lot and to ensure we rose higher than what our families previously achieved. The similarities are striking."

Richard frowned.

"You're not the only one who is capable of carrying out investigations, Sir Richard," Matthew nodded. "You're careful to guard the details of your upbringing, but they are discoverable, with sufficient effort."

"I've never pretended to be born one of the gentry," Richard noted. "Unlike you, I earned what I have. It was not gifted to me merely because my ancestor was born into the right family."

"Well, I've certainly inherited more than my share of problems to go along with my fortune, haven't I?" Matthew replied easily. "I still hold that we're very much alike. Moreover, I know how it feels to be an outsider in their world – in Mary's world. I know how that can grate upon one who is used to a person's value being measured on merit, rather than heredity."

Richard nodded cautiously.

"Your choosing Mary for a wife was understandable," Matthew nodded. "In addition to how clever she is, her status and family name would open doors for you far more easily than any amount of money or achievement would do. It's all gone according to your plan. Your place in Society is assured now. With the War over, it's a new world, and you're well positioned in it."

"It thrills me to have your approval," Richard parried. He needed to say something to deflect this string of truth that Matthew was throwing at him.

Matthew chuckled. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that."

Richard huffed, though he couldn't help but smile a small bit himself.

"You don't need Mary anymore," Matthew stated. "You've arrived. You're in the club, as they say."

Richard frowned. "She is of great use to me still."

"But you don't love her," Matthew shook his head.

"And you do?" Richard accused. "If that was all that mattered, she'd be your wife right now, wouldn't she? She would have waited for you to come out of mourning, would have stood by your side. Instead, she made a wise decision for her future, and didn't allow love to cloud her judgment."

"No, she didn't. She only focused on the duress and impossible choice that you presented to her didn't she?" Matthew fired back.

Richard smiled at his adversary's pique. "Whatever you choose to believe, it doesn't change the outcome, does it?"

Matthew took a deep breath. "No, no it's doesn't. But I'm giving you the chance to do the right thing now."

Richard laughed again. "You've got a nerve, I'll give you that. You've got nothing to lose so you can shove all your chips into the middle of the table. You still haven't given me any reason to consider whatever plan you might have. How does it help me to divorce my wife, Matthew?"

Matthew pursed his lips and leaned forward slightly. "It isn't as if you couldn't find another wife to fill your requirements."

"The same could be said for you," Richard shrugged.

"Perhaps," Matthew acknowledged. "And perhaps I will need to in the end. That doesn't change the fact that it's in your interest to release her now."

"You've failed to explain why," Richard remarked.

Matthew nodded and paused, looking at Carlisle thoughtfully. "It isn't what you imagined, is it?"

"What isn't?" Richard frowned.

"Having Mary as your wife," Matthew answered. "Being in Society with all of its rules and obligations. Much of it seems pointless to you, as it did to me in the beginning."

"I'm managing perfectly well," Richard said lightly.

"For now, yes," Matthew agreed. "I can't help but wonder how the part of you that is so focused on profit can be so accepting of this lifestyle. The expensive parties, maintaining an immense home in Yorkshire, spending money just to put on a show, the cost of it all must deflate the margins of your businesses. Your profits must be suffering with all the funds you've had to draw upon to maintain your lifestyle."

Richard met his rival's careful stare. What was the man getting at? How much did he know?

"Some would say that all of that is the cost of doing business in my line of work," Richard replied eventually.

"Yes, I can see that," Matthew nodded. "Get close to the rich and powerful, wine and dine them and learn their secrets, call in favours to be the first to learn of some delightful gossip that sells more newspapers. It's not a bad plan."

Richard nodded cautiously.

"But it's inefficient, isn't it?" Matthew continued. "How many times have you smiled and laughed your way through an evening, only to come out with nothing in the end? How many friendships have you cultivated that don't bear fruit? The reality is that our lot is quite boring, especially now the power is held by politicians rather than lords. If you could focus on entertaining a select group, that would be far better, but then Mary never was one for doing things cheaply, was she?"

Richard swallowed tightly.

"Without Haxby to eat into your funds, with a wife who is a capable hostess but not nearly as demanding as Mary, you could accomplish so much more,' Matthew declared.

"Or I could keep Mary and she could learn to fall in line," Richard countered. "She's done admirably with that thus far. She knows her place."

Matthew gritted his teeth. He had to expect Carlisle would throw such allusions in his face, and each one stung, but he needed to forge on.

"She'll never love you, you know," Matthew stated. "Not the way you want."

Richard scowled. "The way that she loves you? You're pathetic."

"It has nothing to do with me," Matthew shook his head. "Maybe you thought that with time, she would learn to appreciate you, and I think a part of her does. Maybe you thought that as she saw other families crumble, she would be grateful for you rescuing her, and she probably is. But she'll never love you. She'll never love you for you, Sir Richard, because no matter what you do, the secrets that you keep over her will always come between you. You'll never be entirely sure if she stays with you because she has to, or if she stays with you because she wants to."

Richard shook his head slowly.

"You have years left, decades even," Matthew nodded. "You'll both become more ambivalent and miserable. Maybe you'll take a mistress. Maybe you already have. Mary couldn't stop you, and she probably wouldn't care. So what is more important to you? Hanging on to something that will only decline with age just to prove a point, or cashing your chips in now and taking your winnings?"

Richard watched him for a long moment before smiling and shaking his head. "That's it? That's the best you've got?"

"It's a compelling argument," Matthew stated.

Richard laughed derisively. "Very well. I'll divorce her. The announcement will be just below my front page exclusive about the scandals of Downton Abbey and the family that live there. Are you so sure that Mary will thank you for bringing that upon her?"

"You won't publish any of it," Matthew shook his head. "It's wouldn't do you any good."

"It would be the story of the year!" Richard cackled. "I couldn't print the papers fast enough."

Matthew reached down to his side. For the first time, Richard noticed that he had a briefcase with him. Matthew opened it and took out several large folders before putting his case back down on the floor.

"I suspect that you would attempt to portray Mr Pamuk as having died in Mary's bed after a sordid romp," Matthew ventured, passing one of the folders across the table to Carlisle. "That would make you look rather foolish once the full truth is revealed."

"What's this?" Richard asked, opening the folder and scanning over the summary on the first page. "He was a serial rapist?"

"My research assistant came up with the term," Matthew nodded. "It rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?"

Richard snapped the folder closed and set it on the table. "Your rebuttal won't save her. It will keep her name in the papers for weeks with people debating whether she was in the wrong or not. It will only result in more sales for me."

"Maybe, but your rivals will profit from the story as much as you, maybe even more, since they would be given the full background before you. If the public sees Mary as a victim, it won't reflect well upon you, will it? How would your shareholders react when they see that you are willing to demonize your own wife in the name of crude shock journalism?" Matthew asked. "That could lead to some uncomfortable questions for you and for them."

"I don't need the Pamuk scandal in the end. I've got something far more saucy," Richard smirked.

"You do, yes," Matthew nodded. "I was quite shaken when I learned the story."

"I'm surprised that Mary told you," Richard noted. "But then, she knows that you'll do nothing to betray her, so I suppose she used it as a means to have you stand down once and for all. Well, you never did know when to leave well enough alone."

"The thing about the news, though, is there's always more than one angle, isn't there?" Matthew commented. "As saucy as you say Violet's story is, for example, it might just pale in comparison to the efforts taken to cover it up."

Richard frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, just think about it," Matthew answered. "A tale of a heated affair between two aristocrats that leads to the birth of a child who grows up to falsely become an English Earl. That is already quite the tale, but imagine if it were expanded and became even more spectacular."

"How?" Richard demanded.

"By detailing the aftermath, of course," Matthew smiled. "The beautiful eldest daughter, sacrificing her own happiness to protect her family secret. The opportunistic and manipulative husband who just happens to be a well-known Fleet Street powerbroker."

Richard blinked.

"Why, it's a cast of characters fit for the West End. I'm sure we could throw a bit of comedy in there somewhere just to liven things up a bit," Matthew posited. "You know someone who truly appreciates a clever plot? Your good friend, Lord Beaverbrook."

Richard snarled at the mention of his greatest rival. Max Aitken, Lord Beaverbrook, owned almost as many newspapers as Richard did. He had the ear of politicians and men of influence, and competed fiercely with Richard for readers and revenues, and was just as underhanded.

"You don't want the story to go public. It would ruin Mary and bankrupt you," Richard stated.

"If you aren't going to release Mary, what does it matter to me what becomes of her?" Matthew questioned. "Whether she is ruined or grows old at your side, it's all the same to me, isn't it?"

"You would lose Downton," Richard stated.

"I don't believe so," Matthew shook his head. "My claim to the earldom is unassailable as it never depended on Robert to begin with. Life would continue. Your reputation, on the other hand, well, you'd be known for more than just being a successful newspaper man, that's for certain. I can just imagine how eager Lord Beaverbrook would be to get an interview with you."

"And what will you do when Lady Grantham's American family comes calling for their money? How will you defend yourself and your family from allegations of fraud?" Richard growled.

Matthew passed another folder across to Carlisle. Richard looked at it suspiciously before taking it and reading the contents.

"Martha Levinson preferred to affirm her affidavit, rather than swear on the Bible," Matthew explained as Richard read over the startling written statement of Cora's mother signed mere weeks ago. "You'll see that not only does she take no issue with her daughter's marriage, she also attests to the strong character of the late Robert Crawley, and even offers to increase her daughter's clothing allowance going forward."

"How did you manage this?" Richard demanded, flipping the pages as if the words would somehow change the more he read them.

"It seems that one thing Mrs Levinson hates more than bowing to Society's rules is when a man tries to take advantage of her family," Matthew advised. "I wrote to her and told her everything, including your role in all of this. When she learned that her granddaughter had sacrificed her own happiness to save the rest of the family, she was quite moved. It seems that despite everything, she still holds great affection for Mary. You're free to ask her yourself, if you like. She's accepted my invitation to come for a visit in the Summer."

Richard glared at the affidavit one last time before setting the folder down in disgust.

"You think yourself so brilliant, don't you?" Richard spat, casting angry eyes on Matthew. "The shining hero yet again."

"I'm no hero," Matthew shook his head. "You're no villain. We each have done what we can with the circumstances that have befallen us. The truth is that I envy you, Sir Richard. I disagree with your methods and I question your beliefs, but you have the conviction to go after what you want and to not let anything stand in your way. That is an admirable quality in certain situations. If I had been more like you in that small aspect, perhaps we all wouldn't be in this conundrum today."

Richard frowned in confusion. "There is still a sound argument for me not to cooperate. You could be bluffing. If I refuse to divorce Mary, it's not a certainty at all that you'll go to Beaverbrook with your story."

Matthew nodded. "I'm not counting on your fear of reprisal, Sir Richard. A man in your position doesn't get where he is by scaring easily."

Richard nodded.

"I'm counting on the fact that you are more capable of something than I am – the ability to cast aside all emotion and sentiment and make a reasoned decision based purely on your own self-interest. I'm not asking you to do me a favour, or even to grant Mary your mercy. I think that if you take a proper moment to reason this all out, there is a sound argument for you to save yourself while you can."

Richard watched as Matthew passed one last folder to him across the table.

"Those are my terms," Matthew stated, folding his napkin neatly and placing it on the table. "I expect you'll have your lawyer review them. You'll note that included in the agreement is terms of strict confidentiality, both for you and for Mary. Her secrets won't be the only ones kept safe after your divorce. Yours will be guarded as well, including your business practices that may be considered questionable by some."

Richard didn't look inside the folder but instead stared up at Matthew as he rose from his chair.

"Good evening, Sir Richard," Matthew nodded, extending his hand.

Richard stared at the offered hand in surprise before quickly getting to his feet. Keeping his firm stare on Matthew, he shook his hand briefly. "Good evening, Lord Grantham. Thank you for the entertainment."

Matthew nodded, his stomach churning. He picked up his briefcase and briskly left the dining room.

Richard sat back down and waved the waiter over to refill his Scotch. He ignored the folders and instead stared at the empty chair across the table, his mind reliving the most bizarre of dinners.

Matthew walked back to Grantham House, which was a wise decision, as he barely made it across Piccadilly before he had to duck into an alley and throw up all over the ground.

 **Carlisle Manor, Belgrave Square, Belgravia, London, England, December 1921**

Mary's eyes widened when she heard the two sharp knocks on her door. Training made her immediately close her book and get up from her bed. Instinct made her hesitate before opening the door.

"Richard," she whispered, looking at her husband with wide eyes.

"Hello, Mary," he smiled before pushing into the room. "How was your evening?"

"Fine," she answered, watching him carefully before she closed the door. "How was your meeting?"

"Enlightening," he replied after considering his answer. He swayed towards her bed, removing his jacket as he went.

"I see," she swallowed, following after him to take his jacket before it hit the floor. "What brings you here? It's quite late."

"Do I require a reason to visit my wife?" Richard asked lightly, giving her a mysterious smile.

"No, of course not," she shook her head immediately. "Shall I ring for a drink?"

He shook his head, turning around and eyeing her. He took his jacket from her hands and tossed it on to a chair.

She blinked nervously.

"I don't believe I need to see anything else tonight but you," he declared.

Her stomach lurched. "Yes, Richard."

She slowly turned away from him and closed her eyes, a grimace crossing her face as his hands reached up to her shoulders and pulled the straps of her nightgown down.

"Tell me you love me," he ordered, his voice cold and hard as he kissed her exposed skin.

Her breath caught.

"Say it, Mary," he growled, easing her nightgown down her body.

"I love you," she rasped. Her body went limp, her eyes shut tight to block out all that was happening.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, December 1921**

"Matthew, Edith is here," Cora called, coming into the library with her daughter.

"Ah, Edith!" Matthew smiled, getting up from his chair and going over to hug her. "I'm sorry. I got caught up with work and lost track of the time, it seems."

"It does seem that way, yes," Edith smiled, nodding towards the papers strewn across his desk. "Shall I come back later?"

"No, no, of course not," he shook his head. "Let's all have some tea, shall we?"

"I'm going to visit with Mama and Isobel," Cora informed him. "We'll all be back in time for dinner. Sir Anthony is meeting us then also."

"Excellent," he nodded. "Well, I hope that I can keep you entertained, Edith."

"I'm sure that you will," Edith laughed. She kissed her mother on the cheek before going over to sit down on the sofa.

"I'll see you later, Matthew," Cora smiled before leaving the room.

"She seems glad to be back, doesn't she?" he asked, looking over at the door as he sat down next to Edith.

"Mama is American but she loves it here," Edith noted. "I'm sure that after a few months, she grew tired of seeing Grandmother and Uncle Harold each day and was eager to return."

He chuckled and nodded. "And how are you feeling?"

"Well, thank you," she smiled, smoothing her hand over her stomach. She was hardly showing and her clothes hid her figure easily enough, but she smiled all the same at the mention of her baby. "Being able to share it all with Mama and even with Sybil has been wonderful. We write the most silly letters, she and I, comparing how sick we get in the mornings and such. I can't help but enjoy it all though. Everything is so new and exciting. I know that sounds strange."

He nodded in understanding. "And Mary?"

"I spoke to her briefly the other day. I'll see her at her New Year's party. Anthony's family is gathering in London this year so we'll head down a few days after spending Christmas here," Edith replied.

"That's nice," he commented.

"Shall I pass on a message for you?" Edith offered.

He looked at her curiously. "What could I possibly have to say to her?"

Edith smiled. "The day that either of you runs out of words is the day Hell freezes over, I expect."

He chuckled. "I wouldn't ask you to risk it."

She smirked. "Speaking to my sister can be a bit of a chore, but I will be doing it anyway, so you may as well take advantage."

"Just tell her that I hope she's keeping well," he nodded.

"That's rather boring of you," she remarked.

He frowned at her smiling face.

"Very well," she relented. "I hope she has something a bit more interesting to tell you in return."

"Just go and enjoy the party. You needn't be a messenger," he shrugged.

"That's true, but I love my sister, as difficult as that is to say or hear, and I love you. You can rely on me. I do hope you know that," she smiled.

He reached over and squeezed her hand. "I do."

She smiled and nodded.

"Come on. I've got a bit of a project for you," he smiled, standing up and offering her his hand.

"A project?" she enquired in surprise, standing up and following him out to the Great Hall.

"I was thinking that with you and Sybil having babies in the New Year, we need somewhere for them to stay when they're here visiting," he said.

She blinked as he led her upstairs. "I hadn't thought about that."

"There's nurseries upstairs, of course, but they're old and haven't been used for some time. I think they could use some updating, and who better to handle that than a soon-to-be new mother?" he teased.

"Oh, Matthew. I'm sure that Mama is better suited," she blushed.

"I expect she'll want a hand in it, but you should be involved as well," he nodded. "I want you and your children to feel at home here."

She grinned. "We'll always feel at home here. You've done wonders with the place."

"Thank you, but I'm afraid if you leave the nursery to me, it'll be filled with mismatched furniture and horrid wallpaper, so best that you take it on," he smirked, bringing her to the proposed room that he wanted her to renovate.

Her eyes lit up as she stepped inside, nodding to herself as she began imagining what she would change.

 **Carlisle Manor, Belgrave Square, Belgravia, London, England, January 1922**

"I have a message from Matthew," Edith whispered, smiling as she leaned towards her sister, making it appear as though they were having a casual conversation.

Mary didn't react, continuing to look over the ballroom with calm detachment. "How is he?"

"Fine," Edith nodded. "He said he hopes that you're keeping well."

"That's kind of him," Mary replied.

"Do you have a message for him in return?" Edith asked.

"If I did, I could simply write to him myself," Mary stated.

Edith looked at her knowingly. "Could you, truly?"

Mary turned to her sister, her frown fading when she saw the look of concern that stared back at her.

"Tell him that I wish him all the best of the season," Mary said. "Thank you for bringing me his message, but I don't believe you will need to do so in the future."

Edith nodded, her eyes lowering sadly.

"It's almost midnight. You should find your husband," Mary smiled.

Edith looked at her sister for a moment before she smiled in acknowledgment. "Happy New Year, Mary."

"Happy New Year, Edith," Mary answered.

Edith left and went off to join Anthony in time for the countdown to midnight.

Mary took a deep breath and went off in the other direction to find Richard. She found him by the bar surrounded by a group of his cronies, as expected.

"Excuse me, husband. I hate to tear you away, but it's almost midnight," she smiled sweetly.

"Of course, my dear," Richard chuckled. He shared a knowing glance with the other men. "Gentlemen, go and find your wives and do your duty, won't you?"

The group dispersed and Mary took Richard's arm. He led her to a raised stage so that he could address the party guests before the clock struck midnight.

"1922. I wonder what the year will bring?" she mused.

"Some peace, I should hope," he muttered.

She looked at him curiously. "Peace? The War has been over for some time now."

"There are always wars going on, Mary," he replied. "Maybe not on the same epic scale that we just endured, but there are wars all the same."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Let's hope for peace, then."

He turned to look at her when they got up on stage. "Yes. Peace would be most welcome."

She watched him closely as he called for attention and smiled at his assembled guests. The footmen worked the room ensuring that everyone had a full champagne flute. Richard said a few words wishing everyone good health and good fortune in the New Year, and even threw in a joke about wanting a bit of drama to report on. The guests all raised their glasses and shared a toast when the clock struck midnight and the New Year arrived.

"Happy New Year, Mary," he said, smiling at her. "May it be the best year yet for both of us."

"Happy New Year," she nodded, smiling and accepting his kiss to her cheek. "I'm sure that it will be."

He took her hand and led her down from the stage to accept well wishes from their guests.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1922**

"Lady Anne Acland and The Honourable Evelyn Napier," Carson called from the door.

Matthew blinked in surprise at the newly arrived couple. Anne smiled and nodded to the guests as they made their way into the ballroom, keeping a firm hold of Evelyn's arm. For his part, the heir presumptive to Viscount Branksome stood tall and confident, acknowledging those who came up to them with quiet sophistication.

"I wasn't aware that Anne was joining us," Matthew remarked.

"I invited her," Violet advised, smiling smugly as she watched the couple work the room. "I thought it wrong that Evelyn should be by himself for the Shoot."

"Quite right," he nodded slowly. "They are friends, after all. Though he didn't mention anything about her coming up when we were out today."

"And so he shouldn't," she replied. "It's early days for them. He probably doesn't want to put any labels on their relationship as of yet."

"Relationship?" he blurted out, looking at her in confusion. "What?"

"I wrote to Viscount Branksome from Manchester and mentioned to him that Evelyn and Anne might be well matched. He arranged for her to spend time with the family during the Season, and it appears to have gone well. There's nothing official as of yet, but they do look quite right together, don't they?" she asked.

He looked back over at the couple. Anne seemed to be smiling politely, but her eyes were bright and happy, as though she was at ease and relaxed, so different from the nervousness she seemed to feel the last time she was here.

"They do, yes," he agreed. "Does this mean that I've missed my chance with her?"

"It does," she nodded. "I'm sure that doesn't trouble you when you see how happy she is."

He smiled and nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Cousin."

"You can thank your mother," she huffed. "The woman is a relentless interrogator, not to mention quite meddlesome."

He blinked in surprise.

"We are friends now, her and I, though I shall deny it should you say it aloud," she stated. "She has given me some sage counsel regarding some unfortunate parts of past, and I have helped improve the management of her refugee program. It turns out that we are a rather effective team."

He smiled and nodded. "I had no doubt."

She frowned at him. "Go on and greet your guests. You have duties to attend to."

"Yes, Your Ladyship," he bowed respectfully before leaving her to go and greet Evelyn and Anne warmly.

"Ah, I see that Evelyn and Lady Anne have arrived," Cora noted, coming to Violet's side. "They do make a good couple, don't they?"

"They do," Violet agreed. "I once thought that both of them could aspire to better, but they do make a lovely pair."

Cora nodded. "Life does tend to turn out differently from what we may have once intended."

Violet smiled. "That does not always mean worse, however."

Cora looked at her mother-in-law and shook her head. "No. No, it doesn't. Isobel was wondering if you would be interested in a game of bridge."

Violet sighed and nodded. "Very well. Do not tell her that I agreed, however. Make it seem as though I grudgingly accepted to fill the numbers."

Cora smiled. "Yes, Mama."

* * *

"You look lovely tonight, Anna," Matthew smiled, turning the former lady's maid around the dance floor. "I always seem to marvel when I see you in something other than that black dress you would wear when you were here."

"Thank you, Your Lordship," Anna nodded, laughing as she followed his lead. There were numerous couples all around them. Lady Grantham was with Carson, Lady Edith with one of the footmen, and Daisy with William. Though she was no longer a servant of the house, the Servants' Ball was always a highlight of her year, and attending now as a guest was an honour for her and John.

"How is Bates? I haven't had a chance to chat with him yet tonight," he admitted. "He seemed in good spirits at the weekend."

"He's very well, my Lord," she replied. "We actually have a bit of news for you."

He looked at her curiously. "Do you? Is there a new feature on the menu at the Grantham Arms?"

She laughed and shook her head. "No, my Lord, but there may be a new patron crawling around on the floor by the end of the year."

He blinked in surprise before sharing her wide grin. "Oh, Anna! Congratulations! That's wonderful news."

"Thank you, my Lord," she smiled. "We're both quite elated. We had some trouble for a little while, but it's all come good in the end."

"That's wonderful. We'll have to have a toast to celebrate! Well, that is, if you're all right with informing the others," he muttered.

"Yes, that would be lovely," she agreed. "We wanted you to be one of the first to know."

"Thank you, but that was really wasn't necessary," he assured her.

"Maybe, but you were rather instrumental, my Lord," she blushed.

He frowned in confusion. "Is that so?"

"Yes," she nodded. "We believe it happened sometime in October when we were here. Getting us out of the inn helped free up our evenings, and, well, the rest took care of itself, as they say."

He chuckled at her embarrassment and smiled at her in encouragement. "I hardly think I can take any credit for that, but I'm overjoyed for you, Anna. With Sybil and Edith with child as well, it seems this will be a banner year for babies in the House."

"Oh, we wouldn't dare bring the child here, my Lord," Anna shook her head. "I can only imagine the look on Mr Carson's face should something happen."

"Nonsense, Anna. Carson will be more than happy to welcome your family here, as will I. You and Bates may no longer work here, but you are a part of this House, and so will your child be," he promised.

"Thank you, my Lord," she said softly.

He smiled as they turned about, the music cheerful and happy. It had been over a month now since his meeting with Carlisle in London and no word at all from the man or his lawyers. He didn't dare write to him to see if any progress was being made. He had made his arguments and touched on all the points he wanted to. Whatever would become of him and Mary now, he had done all he could.

"You ought to write to Lady Mary," he suggested, smiling down at Anna. "I'm sure she would be most pleased to hear your news."

"I was considering it, Your Lordship," she nodded. "She did ask me to keep her informed when she left."

He smiled tightly. Even months later any reference to Mary's departure still pained him. He couldn't help thinking about her whenever he wandered through the house or strolled the grounds. Last week during the New Year's Shoot he couldn't help but smile when he took luncheon with the others in the hunting lodge, a brief glimpse towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms bringing back so many vivid memories.

"That October was a special month, wasn't it?" Anna mused. "I don't think we'll ever be able to forget it now."

He brought his eyes back to her and his mind back to the moment. Smiling pleasantly, he nodded in agreement. "Yes, Anna. In many ways, it was pure magic. We ought to remember it always and be grateful for all that happened."

The song finished and they applauded the small band of musicians that Matthew had hired to come down from London to play. He escorted Anna back to where Bates and Mrs Hughes were seated. Calling for the temporary staff who were working the event, he had drinks brought over and waved for the rest of the family to gather around. Lifting his glass high, he had Bates announce the happy news and they all cheered for the expectant parents. The music began again and Edith dragged him on to the dance floor this time, teasing him about having waited over seven years to get a turn. He laughed and led her through the foxtrot, enjoying the moment as Downton was filled with laughter and celebration once again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1922**

He smiled as they turned about, the music cheerful and happy. It had been over a month now since his meeting with Carlisle in London and no word at all from the man or his lawyers. He didn't dare write to him to see if any progress was being made. He had made his arguments and touched on all the points he wanted to. Whatever would become of him and Mary now, he had done all he could.

"You ought to write to Lady Mary," he suggested, smiling down at Anna. "I'm sure she would be most pleased to hear your news."

"I was considering it, Your Lordship," she nodded. "She did ask me to keep her informed when she left."

He smiled tightly. Even months later any reference to Mary's departure still pained him. He couldn't help thinking about her whenever he wandered through the house or strolled the grounds. Last week during the New Year's Shoot he couldn't help but smile when he took luncheon with the others in the hunting lodge, a brief glimpse towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms bringing back so many vivid memories.

"That October was a special month, wasn't it?" Anna mused. "I don't think we'll ever be able to forget it now."

He brought his eyes back to her and his mind back to the moment. Smiling pleasantly, he nodded in agreement. "Yes, Anna. In many ways, it was pure magic. We ought to remember it always and be grateful for all that happened."

The song finished and they applauded the small band of musicians that Matthew had hired to come down from London to play. He escorted Anna back to where Bates and Mrs Hughes were seated. Calling for the temporary staff who were working the event, he had drinks brought over and waved for the rest of the family to gather around. Lifting his glass high, he had Bates announce the happy news and they all cheered for the expectant parents. The music began again and Edith dragged him on to the dance floor this time, teasing him about having waited over seven years to get a turn. He laughed and led her through the foxtrot, enjoying the moment as Downton was filled with laughter and celebration once again.

 **Chapter 12:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1922**

"Matthew!"

Matthew blinked and turned away from the window. He looked over at his perturbed mother and smiled sheepishly. Leaning forward, he set his tea cup down on the table before sitting up straight and giving her his full attention.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he apologized, shaking his head. "My mind was elsewhere."

"Apparently," Isobel remarked crisply. "You've been distracted for weeks. Molesley was remarking that you didn't seem yourself as of late."

He frowned. Since Mother and Cousin Violet had returned from Manchester over the holidays, they both chose to stay in their old homes, Crawley House and the Dower House. Matthew's former valet, Molesley, and the family cook, Mrs Bird, had travelled with Mother to Manchester as well and were now back. While Molesley had served Matthew for years, there was no need to bring him to Downton after Bates had left in November. He saw him plenty when he had tea with Mother in the afternoons and the man was as staid and steady as ever.

"Are you quite certain that he made that exact remark? Or was it far more likely that the comment came from you and he was simply too polite to refute it?"

"I cannot seem to recall precisely," she shrugged, sipping her tea.

"That's peculiar, given how remarkably accurate your memory normally is," he muttered.

"Be that as it may, what has you so off as of late?" she probed.

"A new year always brings new challenges, Mother," he sighed. "My plans have reached a crucial phase and I'm anxious to see the results, that's all."

"I wasn't aware that anything was imminent," she stated. "I assumed that work on the farms and other construction would cease over the Winter."

"It has, for the most part," he acknowledged. "However, I've gone to great pains to lay the foundation for several projects leading up to now, and the rewards may be soon in coming."

"I see," she nodded, regarding him carefully. "Well, perhaps there will be some excitement around here before Cousin Violet and I return to Manchester."

He nodded and glanced over to the window briefly before turning back to her. "I would love nothing more than for the changes that I've been working towards to move forward as quickly as possible, Mother."

"My Lord, Mrs Crawley," Carson called, coming into the sitting room. "The newspapers, my Lord."

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew replied, taking the newspapers from the butler. He placed two of them on the table and opened the third.

"Were they late today? It's well past luncheon," Isobel asked in confusion.

"His Lordship left early for the office this morning," Carson answered. "We keep them for him to read upon his return."

"You left before the newspapers were delivered?" Isobel asked.

Matthew smiled and nodded to Carson, allowing the relieved butler to take his leave. "I knew you were coming by so I wanted to get some work done before coming back home. I find that it's easier to focus in the early mornings before everyone else gets in. It's quieter."

Isobel watched her son cautiously, perplexed at his answer. He had always been a diligent worker, but going into the office before dawn was hardly necessary unless he had some urgent matter.

Or perhaps he couldn't sleep for some reason, she wondered.

He flipped the pages of the newspaper. Since joining the House of Lords, there was very little in the political or national news that he did not already know, or at least have some inkling of. Whether it was through private conversations at his club in London, phone calls at the office or letters sent here and there, he was more informed on the pulse of the country than ever before. The daily news still interested him, particularly those areas that he didn't tend to keep up with generally, but rarely was it that he read a headline that he found shocking or surprising.

A frown crossed his brow when he reached one of the last pages.

 _'Inaugural British Grand Prix planned for Brooklands_ _'_

It was a small piece on the efforts to bring a proper European grand prix race to the Surrey course. He would have normally skimmed over it except that there was an accompanying photo taken at what appeared to be a dinner at the Royal Automobile Club in London. Standing amongst the organizers and drivers was Henry's tall figure, with Mary at his side. Though they were not the focus of the photo, Matthew could still make out the man's smug smile and Mary's reserved expression. The driver's hand was placed sneakily on her hip, his arm across her waist.

Resisting the urge to crumple up the newspaper and toss it away, Matthew instead folded it up and set it down. He glanced briefly at the other dailies and decided against reading them.

"Anything of note happening in the world?" Isobel asked, interrupting his dark thoughts.

"Nothing," he replied curtly, reaching for the tea pot to refill their cups. "Just another day."

 **Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, February 1922**

Mary stared out the car window as the Yorkshire countryside passed by. The driver knew not to bother trying to make conversation with her, which allowed her some peace and quiet before arriving at Haxby. She had slept for most of the train ride from London, the private first class cabin affording her enough solitude that she could rest. She had been out late last evening at the Royal Automobile Club and this morning's early departure meant she didn't get nearly as much sleep as she would have wanted.

She frowned slightly as her thoughts wandered back to last evening. Richard had mentioned that they would be attending the announcement of the British Grand Prix. While she couldn't care less about a motor race, the Royal Automobile Club building on Pall Mall was quite nice, even if it was but a glorified temple of car lovers. She stood dutifully by through the meal, speeches and photos, and afterwards found herself left alone with Henry while Richard held court at another table surrounded by executives and bankers.

"Let's dance," Henry had said with a cocky smile. It was an order, rather than a request, and with Richard showing no sign of requiring her, she complied. Many of the Club supporters were businessmen who Richard wanted to impress, meaning that she was to stay in the background and look pretty, while keeping Henry happy.

Women noticed him all evening, and watched him steer her on to the dance floor with envious glances. How she wished he had chosen one of them instead. Receiving the attention of a handsome man would normally be flattering, but Henry wasn't so much interested in her as he was looking to feed his own ego. Even that wouldn't have been entirely objectionable. Spending time with him was preferable to waiting for her husband to finish his pandering so she could go home. As she turned about the floor in Henry's arms, however, all she felt was boredom and weariness. These past few months following her stay at Downton seemed grey and bland, the spirit and joy she felt in October replaced with a resigned surrender. There was no point complaining or despairing over her situation. She got on with it, as she always had, but she was a shell of the woman who had come alive in Matthew's loving embrace.

When Henry kept her in his hold for a second dance, and a third, she consented. When he suggested they take a tour of the Club, she followed. When he predictably pulled her into a side room and kissed her sloppily, she stood still and allowed it. He wasn't so despicable to demand anything more from her, but she only gave him a token reprimand before they went back to the main hall. It was as though she was watching an actress give a performance of a character so entirely the opposite of who she truly was. Detached. Unfeeling. Uncaring.

The familiar fields of Haxby soon appeared and she remained stoic. Richard would be driving back from London later today and after another successful Season, she was ready for a respite. It was too cold to take Diamond out, and she had to review the staff ahead of Richard's arrival anyway. When the car turned on to the long drive leading up to the house, she took a slow breath, trying to appreciate these last moments of before it was time to be Lady Mary Carlisle once again. Her mind wandered to the East, wondering what Matthew was doing, how the rest of the family was getting on. Though Downton was a short distance away and Loxley a bit further still, they may as well have been in another country given how unlikely it was that she would be visiting anytime soon.

The car came to a stop before the large house, her husband's house, her house. By the time the butler opened the car door for her, she was back to who she was supposed to be – stern, sophisticated and not at all sentimental.

"My Lady," the butler nodded to her. "The house has been made ready as you instructed for Sir Richard's return."

"I'll be the judge of that," she said crisply, marching with her head held high into the house.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, February 1922**

Matthew put his pen back down and sighed, the words simply not coming to him. His legal pad was full of scribbles and senseless notes, reflecting his jumbled mind. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on the task at hand for more than a few minutes before his thoughts strayed to the inevitable questions that haunted his waking hours and even his dreams.

 _What was taking so long?_

 _Did Carlisle's silence mean he was still mulling over Matthew's offer or had he already rejected it and was content to leave him swaying in uncertainty?_

 _How was Mary doing?_

 _Was he nothing but a stupid fool?_

He huffed and reached for the metal _baoding_ balls, removing them from the small wooden box and immediately turning them about in one hand. Sitting back in his chair, he stared out the window, a frown of consternation on his brow.

The cold truth was that October had been something out of a dream. He and Mary had been more acquaintances than friends when he went to Haxby on that fateful night for a game of poker. They rarely saw each other and didn't write or call. With her marriage to Carlisle, her presence at Downton faded, as did her connection to him. He didn't want to reach out to her out of resentment for her having chosen Carlisle, and out of his own guilt for thinking he made her do so. She was moving on with her life and leaving him behind, or so he thought. Never would he have imagined he would spend a glorious month with her. Even after the revelations and realizing the hopelessness that they faced, their month together was happiness like he had never known.

But October was over with. It wasn't even the same year anymore. His pitch to Carlisle had met with only silence. He wasn't sure he had any other moves left.

He wasn't sure if waiting for Mary was even an option.

It wasn't as if he had other women waiting on him to make up his mind. With Anne now surely headed towards accepting Evelyn, Matthew was back to starting over again. He preferred not having anything imminent in that respect. Focusing on his work and Downton would take his mind off of Mary, or so he hoped. He acknowledged that there would be a time for him to try and court another woman, but it didn't have to be right this instant, and realistically, it shouldn't be. He was in no state to think about another woman yet.

"Matthew."

He set the _baoding_ balls back in their case and rose from his desk, nodding politely to Cora as she came into the room and went over to sit down on the settee. "Hello."

"Are you busy?" she asked, looking over at his desk. "I thought we could discuss the events on the calendar for the next few months."

"Of course, of course," he nodded, taking a seat on the sofa opposite her. "I'm glad to have you back to take care of such things."

She smiled and nodded in understanding. Taking out her folio, she turned to the appropriate page before continuing. "There usually isn't anything of note until late Spring. I thought that we might have a dinner in London a bit earlier this year. It will give Edith the chance to be seen before it becomes too difficult for her to travel, and ought to give you a bit of a break as well."

He nodded. "Whatever you deem appropriate. You know me. Tell me where to show up and I'll be there."

"Now you're sounding like Robert," she shook her head wistfully. "He never cared for any of the details, but I could always count on him to play his role."

He nodded sadly. Cora tended to change her mood when it came to speaking about her late husband. Some days she would bring up his name unprompted and warmly reminisce about some tale from their lives. Others, she could barely mention him without grimacing in despair. Even after Matthew wrote to Martha Levinson, he was generally confident that Cora still did not know of Robert's true parentage. There was no point in lessening her memories of her husband, and he expected Martha would have preferred to keep those recollections pristine, regardless of the rumoured disdain between the Levinson matriarch and Cousin Violet.

Cora went through some ideas for parties and gatherings during Royal Ascot and other Society events later in the year. With Mother and Violet heading back to Manchester for two months, it was left to Cora to organize most of it, and he thought she enjoyed that. With all of her daughters moved away and Matthew now the Earl, this was a rare opportunity for her to reassert herself both here and in Society.

"How is Mary?" she asked abruptly once they were finished their planning.

He blinked in surprise. "Well, I would expect. You've seen her more recently than I have."

She shrugged. "Yes, but taking tea with Sir Richard's staff hovering about does not begin to compare to spending an entire month with her."

He nodded slowly. "It was good to have her back here. I believe that she enjoyed it also."

It was all he could do to not grin stupidly at all that his comment implied.

"I'm glad," she nodded. "I don't know what it is, but when I think about her stuck in that house, well, it's hardly a prison, but even still…"

"It feels as though she is capable of so much more? Yes," he finished. "Did you find her happy?"

"Mary isn't one for showing emotion," she smiled. "She does seem pleased with her life, yes."

"Pleased," he repeated. "As in content."

She nodded. "I was content in the early days of my marriage as well. Adjusting to a new country, a new life, there wasn't much time to be anything else but content."

"That changed, however," he suggested.

She grinned in remembrance. "Yes. Marriage takes great effort. It's still quite early for Mary and Sir Richard. With time and effort, though, she will learn how to best support him and their life together will settle, as it did for Robert and me."

"Let's hope so," he said tightly.

"Well, with all three of them married and Sybil and Edith both with child, you know who will be receiving the most attention in the coming months," she smiled, changing the subject.

He smiled wryly. "I'm bracing myself for it."

"It won't be so bad," she laughed. "Mama seems to have calmed a bit on the subject. When I raised it with her the other day she said that you had plenty of time to sort things out. Before, she was quite insistent on finding someone for you."

He nodded. "Perhaps she's learned that patience is a virtue in matters of the heart."

"Perhaps," she shrugged. "Did something happen while I was away? She seemed fine with letting you chart your own path."

"I doubt that she's entirely fine with it," he noted. "We understand each other better, is all."

She nodded, accepting his answer.

"You must be pleased," he remarked. "You go off to America and when you return, Sybil and Edith are both with child."

She laughed and nodded. "It is most welcome news, yes. I don't know if either of them are quite ready for all that lies ahead, but they'll both be wonderful mothers, I'm sure of it."

"I agree. I like to think that Robert would be happy also. I know he didn't entirely approve of either Tom or Sir Anthony, but surely he would have doted on his grandchildren," he suggested.

"He would have. We both would have," she confirmed. "I can't say that I was pleased with either one of them. Sir Anthony I thought was adequate for Edith. Robert and Mama were far more concerned about his age, but I thought it a decent match. Tom, however, well, I still have my moments where I can't quite believe that Sybil chose him."

He smiled.

"We could have fought against both of them," she mused. "Robert wanted to cut off the money for Sybil. He could not have done much to dissuade Edith since Sir Anthony had a title and land of his own, but he still spoke to him to try to give him pause. In the end we both understood that we would only end up wasting precious years were we to go down that road. I'm grateful that we didn't, that Robert saw his daughters married before he died."

He frowned slightly.

"Do not misunderstand me. I think of both of them as my sons now, even if Sir Anthony is in fact older than I am," she clarified. "Robert and I both accepted that once the girls were married, that would be the end of their lives with us. They would move on, and even if it wasn't entirely in the manner that we would have wanted for them, all we could do was warn them of the problems they might face – be it Sybil living as an Englishwoman in Ireland, or Edith marrying a man much older than she – and allow them to go and live their lives."

"You allowed them to choose, knowing they would have to live with their choices," he stated.

"Yes," she nodded. "And truly that is what all of them are doing now."

"They are indeed," he muttered, looking over to the window and the cold grey sky beyond.

 **Haxby Park, Yorkshire, England, March 1922**

Richard sipped his Scotch, the flickering flames in the hearth drawing his attention but doing little to calm his nerves. It was strange how when he was here in Yorkshire, with acres upon acres of his land stretched out before him he felt more cooped up and trapped than he did in his smaller townhouse in London. There were dozens of rooms with plenty to distract him – art, books, billiards, cards, and so on. However, to invite one of the neighbours over became too much of a production. It was too cold to venture outside and he wasn't one for the outdoors anyway. In the city, he could go out for fine food and drink, take in a show, visit with friends, indulge in whatever his imagination came up with. Here, there was just sitting around while the night wore on.

He balanced the tumbler glass in his hand and looked over at his wife. Mary was seated on the sofa, a sketchbook across her lap, her long fingers guiding her pencil over the page. Unlike most women, she didn't care for needlework, preferring to sketch and colour instead. She was decent at it, focusing on fashion mainly. She would take photographs of models and clothes from various magazines and draw them, often changing the colours.

"What's that you're working on now?" he asked.

She blinked at his question and looked up from her pad. "Just something I saw in _Vogue_."

"Let me see," he called.

She frowned in confusion. "Why? You hardly have any interest in fashion."

"I like to at least stay current to a degree," he answered.

She shrugged and turned her pad around so he could see the figure of a tall woman wearing a sleeveless blue dress that stopped just past her knees.

"That's a rather bold look," he noted, uttering the first thing that came to mind.

"It is," she smiled, turning the pad back around and drawing in more detail. "I quite like it."

"Will I be expecting to pay for it in the near future, then?" he asked.

"Probably," she answered easily. "You want me to look my best, don't you?"

He huffed. "I should have encouraged you to prefer crochet. Yarn and thread in that hobby don't cost me nearly as much."

"Am I to make my own clothes now?" she smirked. "I'll warn you that I may end up looking like I'm wearing a bedsheet."

He frowned and looked back at the fire. Mary's figure and sophisticated look was always a source of pride for him. Whenever they entered a ballroom or home together, he could feel the appreciative stares and jealous glances. Her beauty was one of the reasons why men like Henry Talbot were so friendly to him, so ready to accede to his requests for interviews and information, just so they could spend more time around her. The pompous driver had telephoned earlier this week, wondering when they would be back in London. He wanted to spend more time with Mary and invited the both of them to have dinner the next time they were down. Something about the eagerness in the man's voice perturbed him, the prospect of socializing with him was annoying and bothersome. When Richard was in London and occupied with business, the old rush of adrenaline carried him through the long hours. He loved his job and everything involved with it. Carrying on with Mary in Society was a different matter. He knew it was important and necessary, but going from one function to another, one useless conversation to another grated on his nerves.

"I wanted to ask you if it would be all right to host a bit of an event in London this summer," she said, drawing his attention. "You wouldn't need to attend."

"That sounds strange," he commented. "What would it be for?"

"For Sybil and the baby," she answered. "I was thinking of having them over with Mama and Edith, Granny and a few other women."

"Won't your family be arranging something at Downton?" he questioned.

"Yes, but I'd like to do something of my own. Sybil is very dear to me, you know. I helped raise her," she stated.

"Is there not less than five years between you?" he frowned.

"Just over four," she replied. "Which is why she looked up to me more than she did Edith."

He sighed and shook his head. "Very well. Just let me know the date and time when you've arranged it."

"Thank you," she said.

"I suppose this is what life will involve now," he pondered aloud. "Each day filled with more visitors at my door."

"Most of them are your friends and colleagues," she pointed out. "I hardly think that having my family over once during the entire summer is asking too much."

"It's not asking too much," he frowned. "I just find that we host a different party of some sort every day and night."

"Stop inviting people over and we won't," she answered. "This week is clear, for example."

"No one comes to Yorkshire during winter if they can help it," he mumbled.

She frowned. "If we were in London, we would be hosting day and night, as you so put it. You would be quite annoyed with everyone traipsing in and out, presumably."

"Maybe, but there's more to do in London," he explained.

"So what are you saying? You want to sell Haxby and move?" she asked carefully.

He grumbled. "I…I simply think that life has turned out differently from what I envisioned. It's not a complaint, just a fact."

She looked at him with surprise. "I thought that you didn't do anything that wasn't carefully planned, organized and executed."

He nodded slowly. "Things can change."

She swallowed. "Such as?"

He sighed, still looking at the fire. "Do you remember Cliveden?"

She blinked at his soft tone. "Of course. Where we first met."

"You were the most beautiful woman in the entire room," he declared, looking over at her. "With easily the sharpest tongue."

She smiled. "You weren't timid yourself. You had everyone captivated during dinner."

"Including you," noted.

She nodded. "Including me."

He looked down for a moment before returning to her dark brown eyes. "What did you think of me back then? Honestly."

"Honestly?" she repeated, perplexed as to what he was getting at. Sir Richard Carlisle was not one for introspection. "You were unlike any man I had ever met before."

"Including Matthew?" he asked.

Her eyes widened for a moment before she looked away and nodded. "Including him, yes."

"When we met," he continued. "How long had it been since you broke things off with him?"

An alarm of warning sounded in her head, but she didn't see the harm in telling him some bits of her past. He knew far worse things about her, to be certain.

"It had already been two years," she told him. "He withdrew his proposal when war was declared on Germany."

"Two years," he repeated. "Quite a long time."

"Exactly," she agreed. "We didn't speak in all that time. I saw him for the first time shortly before you came to Downton."

He nodded.

"Why do you ask?" she enquired, watching him closely.

"When we first met, I believed that we were perfectly suited for each other," he stated, gazing at the fire. "You had a combination of wit, beauty, ambition and logical sensibility that was unique, unlike other women I knew. I saw in you someone who could keep up with me and where I was going."

She frowned and swallowed nervously. "Yes?"

"I'm not happy, Mary," he declared, looking over at her briefly before returning to the fire. "I'm not happy with Haxby, with the direction that some of my businesses are going, with where I am currently compared to where I expected to be."

She arched her eyebrow. "Well, I was not expecting that. What do you intend to do?"

"I believe that my place is in London," he nodded. "I can better devote myself to my newspapers, be closer to those who are vital to my success."

She weighed his words. "How much time do you expect to spend there?"

He looked at her. "I'm going to move there permanently. I'll sell this place and invest the profit in my businesses."

She pursed her lips to hide her shock. "I see. Well, given all the improvements you've made, the property should fetch a high price."

"The land alone is worth a fortune. If I divide it up into parcels, someone could build multiple houses, even entire neighbourhoods. Its use as a property for one family is rather outdated. Anyway, I'm not worried. I'll make money off of the place. I always do," he affirmed confidently.

She cringed slightly at the idea of a home that had stood since before she was born being torn down in the name of progress, but she kept those thoughts to herself. "How soon shall we be moving, then?"

"I'll be leaving tomorrow," he declared. "My things can be packed and sent down over time. None of the furniture is important to me. I'll leave it all here until I sort out with the agents how to market the land."

She nodded. "I should be ready to go within the week."

He took a deep breath, glancing over at the fire before looking back at her. She was stoic and elegant as always, but he could see a touch of fear in her eyes, the fear of uncertainty. Yorkshire was in her blood. Even though she ruled London during the Season, her lot never saw the city as home. It was a place to visit, to do business and entertain, but the country was where she truly felt at home. He knew that from the beginning but like many things about her, he thought she would change out of demand and necessity. He had to admit that she had made a true effort at everything, done all that he asked of her and more.

"You won't be joining me, Mary," he informed her, his voice firm. "I no longer have any use for you."

She blinked. "What?"

"The benefit of being part of Society has waned since the War," he continued. "You toffs no longer enjoy rarefied status. You're all bankrupt or close to it, the image that you portray is vastly different from what your balance sheets would tell. Being married to the Earl of Grantham's eldest daughter is no longer as advantageous as it once was."

A harsh gasp escaped her lips despite her efforts to quell it.

"You will return to your family and stay with them," he ordered. "My lawyers will commence the necessary petition to end our marriage. After six months or so, the decree will be declared absolute and we will be divorced."

Her eyes bulged. "On what grounds?"

"On the only grounds that I require – adultery," he stated.

She had long prepared for this exact argument, and upon hearing the word she glared at him heatedly. "I have done no such thing!"

He looked at her for a moment before nodding slowly. "No, you haven't, however, if you wish to be free of me, you will need to agree that you did. Besides, I'm sure you've thought of being with other men, or perhaps one man in particular."

She shook her head. "How can you do this? I've done everything you wanted! I've hosted all of your events, led all of your charity functions, supported your rise, all of it! I…"

"You don't love me, Mary," he interrupted her, his voice calm and cold.

She gasped.

"You don't love me," he repeated, the pain of such a statement not nearly as acute as he expected. "I did love you. More than you knew, and much, much more than you loved me. However, we don't make each other happy anymore, if we ever did."

She was stunned speechless.

He smiled ruefully. "I suppose even your clever mind is incapable of mounting a vigorous objection in the face of such honesty?"

"It's only been two years," she muttered. "Many couples take a long time to find their footing. I'm sure that if we focused on building a life in London, we could…"

"You're probably right, however, I do not wish to go to such an effort," he shook his head. "I have built my success on being able to make assertive decisions without regret or reservation, and not holding on to a losing position out of sentiment. We aren't well-suited, Mary. I thought that we were, but I see now that we're not."

"You're being far too hasty," she shook her head. "We can make this work. You've seen how well we manage at dinners and functions. We can still be a good team, as you once said."

He frowned. "You see, my dear, the Lady Mary that I knew would never beg a man for anything. Whether it's because of me or because of your position, I do not know, but you aren't who you once were. This will do both of us good, help both of us get back to who we truly are."

"How?" she choked out. "I'll be ruined! Not only will I be known as a woman who couldn't keep my husband, but I'll have no title, and my father's memory will be forever sullied!"

"The divorce will affect both of us, but not forever. Lady Mary Crawley is never down long, isn't that what you once told me?" he replied.

"But I won't be Lady Mary Crawley, will I?" she retorted bitterly.

"Yes, you will," he nodded. "The secrets that you keep will never be revealed. You have my word."

Her mouth fell open. "What?"

He shook his head. "I am releasing you so that I can renew myself. I will not publish, now or ever. Your father will always be known as the seventh Earl of Grantham, and your Granny's past will remain there."

Her pulse leapt. "Your job is to sell newspapers. This would be the story of the year, surely."

He nodded. "I have found a compelling reason to keep it buried. It does serve me to maintain a ruthless and unforgiving reputation. Divorcing my wife because of her adultery is sufficient for that purpose."

She stared at him in complete disbelief.

He finished his Scotch and rose from his chair. "Goodnight, Mary. You'll be hearing from my lawyers. I expect that we shall never see each other again."

"Wait," she implored, standing up from the sofa and intercepting him as he moved for the door.

"Yes?" he asked, looking at her cautiously.

"Thank you," she nodded. "Regardless of what happened between us, I came to you at a time when I was in need and you helped me. The rest of it was what it was, but you did save me then, and I am grateful for that."

"My motives were hardly altruistic," he smirked.

She smiled and nodded. "No, they most certainly weren't, but I appreciate it all the same."

"What do you think would have happened if I hadn't discovered the rest of it?" he asked. "Do you think we would have had a chance?"

"I can't say," she shook his head. "But from that first moment we met at Cliveden, it was not my intention to use you to avoid scandal. You weren't the only man to make a pass that night, but you were the only man I replied to."

He smiled.

She reached up and touched his cheek before kissing him softly. "Goodbye, Richard. I hope the next woman you love deserves you more than I did."

He chuckled at that. "Goodbye, Mary. Good luck to you."

She stepped back and he left for his wing of the house, never looking back at her.

She frowned with worry, looking over at the fire as the weight of what had just happened set in on her. The sense of foreboding did not leave her even after she went upstairs to bed.

 **Law Office of George Murray, Chelsea, London, England, March 1922**

Contrary to popular belief, George Murray was not a barrister and solicitor who served only the rich and privileged. While his client roster did include numerous dukes, earls, and marquesses, it was impossible to run a successful practice on the gentry alone, particularly after the War. He worked for companies and individuals with no noble blood at all, in matters ranging from criminal to commercial. His expertise in family law was limited, however, he knew enough about it that when Violet Crawley telephoned him to say that the family had an urgent divorce matter that required his attention, he believed himself competent enough to take it on. Having Lady Mary Crawley as the client in question, however, was something he wasn't at all prepared for. He had assumed it was some scheme to rescue Lady Sybil from the clutches of that Irish chauffeur she had run off with.

"The petition is quite straightforward, actually," he explained, looking at Lady Mary sitting on the other side of his desk. "Sir Richard cites the grounds for divorce as adultery and so long as you do not contest it, a formal court hearing will not be required. He's gone to the additional step of having the petition heard in York, rather than in London, which will limit the amount of unwanted attention paid to the matter."

Mary nodded, clutching her purse in her lap. It was a week since Richard had informed her that he was ending their marriage. She was still in shock. He left in the early morning the next day to London and she hadn't seen or spoken to him since. Her own departure for Downton Abbey occurred a day later, and Mama was there to welcome her home. Granny and Isobel were in Manchester with Matthew, and in the days that followed, she only managed to speak with him by telephone, which meant they never had sufficient privacy to say everything they wanted to say. Today was the first day they were all in London, but Mary thought it best that she and Matthew not be seen together. Despite the shaky truce that she had reached with Richard the last night she saw him, she was still suspicious of him, imagining this was some elaborate scheme to catch her in an affair with Matthew and publish that along with the rest of her secrets. She wished that Matthew was here now, though. Granny's support was invaluable, but she needed to see Matthew to know that everything would work out.

"Is Mary's presence required at Court?" Violet asked from the chair next to her.

"Not necessarily, no, Lady Grantham," he answered. "There will be a hearing, but if the petition proceeds unopposed, the decree will be deemed absolute in six months' time without the attendance of the parties at Court. There is no need for a judge to question the parties unless there is some suspicion of collusion, and in this case, it would be quite irregular to suspect collusion given that both parties are suffering as a result."

Mary frowned. She didn't believe that her soon-to-be former husband would suffer at all. As he had said, he would be portrayed as the jilted man who threw his wife over once he learned of her betrayal. She would be punished far worse than he was.

"There is, therefore, the possibility that all of this will pass without much fanfare at all," Violet noted.

"Possible, though unlikely," he replied. "Sir Richard has many rivals. The word of his failed marriage will spread quickly."

Mary nodded slowly. It was true that Richard had enemies, both in business and in his private life. Even though they would crow about the divorce, some rival newspaper moguls were nothing compared to the harpies she would have to contend with in Society, to say nothing for the general public who would see her as an adulteress. Keeping her family secrets safe was worth any cost, as she had proven before, but her status was about to take a heavy hit.

"There are specific terms as part of the divorce which are not included in the petition," he continued, picking up a separate document. "In particular, there are confidentiality provisions of which I have no information. All the agreement says is that the terms proposed by Lord Grantham are acceptable."

Mary blinked in surprise. "Matthew proposed terms?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "There are no details in the agreement. It also stipulates that Lord Grantham will pay the costs of the proceeding."

Mary frowned in confusion. "But why would he have to do that?"

He looked down at his desk and cleared his throat. "Well, Lady Mary, it is customary for the co-respondent to pay the costs of the divorce. The wife seldom has property or funds of her own to bear the expense, you see."

"In this case, Mary is more than capable of paying, though I see no reason why she should," Violet interjected. "I expect that Matthew is more than willing to pay the costs, particularly since it is already mentioned in the agreement."

"But why is Matthew the co-respondent?" Mary asked, looking from Granny to Murray quizzically.

"He's named as the co-respondent since it is required that the identity of the man with whom you have committed adultery is known to the Court, my Lady," he mumbled.

Mary blinked in surprise. "I see."

"So long as the decree is not defended, neither Mary, nor Matthew will need to attend at Court, will they?" Violet asked.

"That is correct, Lady Grantham," he nodded. "I will make arrangements to attend, of course, to ensure that Lady Mary's interests are protected."

"Yes, do so, Murray," Violet nodded. "I will also be there along with Cora and Mrs Crawley. To allow the decree to go unopposed is one thing, but to allow Sir Richard to proceed unchecked is quite another."

Mary smiled gratefully at her Granny. She was relieved that she wouldn't have to face Richard in Court, or any of the reporters and onlookers who would flock there when they saw her name on the docket. Even though her family knew that her marriage to Richard was an unhappy one, the Crawleys did not believe in divorce. She half-expected to have to face all of this alone.

"Well, let me take you through the agreement and decree so that you feel comfortable enough to sign and allow the matter to go unopposed," he continued, turning the pages towards her.

Mary read along as he explained the legal jargon to her. While she tried to pay attention, part of her mind was elsewhere, wondering just what Matthew had done to facilitate her release from Richard, and why Richard had gone along with it. She was still fearful about what all of this meant for her. She knew that she had Matthew's love and support, which mattered above all things, but she also was well aware that a rocky road lay ahead for her, an uncharted path that no one she knew had ever travelled before. Richard had set things in motion and she could not stop it now. She would not emerge unscathed, but she prayed she would survive with enough of herself intact to face whatever her new life would be.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, March 1922**

Matthew stared up at the ceiling, the odd noise from outside strangely comforting to him. Growing up in Manchester, he was used to the bustle of city life. Though evenings in Yorkshire were peaceful and serene, they were almost unearthly quiet and took a great deal of getting used to. His mind was all over the place and the distraction was most welcome.

He didn't get back until early evening, spending most of the day running errands and taking meetings at his club. Mary had dinner with Edith, Sir Anthony, Cora and Violet, then went upstairs early, the long day having taken its toll upon her. When he got in, he stayed up with Edith for a while and had a drink. He was the last to retire, his thoughts still unsettled.

Mary had agreed to the arrangements and Carlisle's petition would be sent to York in the coming days. There was so much that Matthew had to say to her but they didn't have any time alone together. While Mary's pending divorce was now known throughout the family, where things stood between him and her was still a secret. He knew that Violet probably had her suspicions, but Cora, Edith and even Mother were still in the dark. The statement in the decree that Mary had committed adultery with him, while true, was a fabrication as far as the family was concerned, a way of setting Mary free. Now wasn't the time to announce their relationship to everyone.

Truly, he didn't even know what their relationship was.

When Mary left at the end of October to go back to Haxby, they had promised they would be together if she was ever able to leave Carlisle. Of course, they both knew it was almost impossible, and in that moment, so full of love and so desperate to hang on to each other, they said and did anything and everything. Months later though, the sobering reality was that Mary was about to have her very identity torn asunder, even if Carlisle was allowing her to remain Lady Mary Crawley. It was one thing to pledge herself to Matthew when all they thought was happening was her trading her despicable husband for a far better one. Neither of them could predict what was about to happen to her, or how they would face it together.

He knew he loved Mary and he knew she loved him. They shared a bond that would last for the rest of their lives and would have even if she stayed married to Carlisle. It was one thing to care for each other from afar and quite another to try and build a life together, though. When he first proposed, they knew each other well enough, but they were so young. During the War they had both changed profoundly, and when they became reacquainted as friends, the connection they shared could never be explored as they were both engaged to other people. Following her marriage, their contact was cut off, which made their month together all the more incredible and miraculous.

Once her divorce became final, there would be nothing to keep them apart anymore, but who would they be then? He wanted to protect her from the gossip and harsh treatment of Society, support her and share Downton with her, love her and grow old with her. His dreams were so close to coming true that he could touch and taste them, but a thread of doubt had emerged these past months, and it grew stronger with every passing day.

As much as he hated Carlisle, the truth was that Mary went to him in her time of need, when she felt she had nowhere else to turn. She had done so to her peril. Carlisle had exploited her and manipulated the situation to force her into marriage. She relied upon him and was punished for it. Like most women, her life was filled with moments where she was at the mercy of a man. Whether it was Robert's refusal to fight the entail when she was younger, Pamuk assaulting her or Carlisle jeopardizing her future, her life was seldom her own. Now, with liberation a mere six months away, here he was ready to swoop in and shackle her yet again.

He took a deep breath, sleep nowhere to be found. He and Mary belonged together. Everything he did for her was done for her benefit, but did that make him so very different from the others? Robert used his caretaker excuse, but he believed he was doing right by the family. Pamuk was selfish and twisted, but he thought he could show Mary the pleasures of the flesh, that she would have some enjoyment from it. Carlisle was a manipulative scoundrel, but he bought Haxby for her and gave her a life that she would not have had if her scandals were exposed. Matthew was probably the only man who wanted the best for Mary, but did that give him the right to impose himself on her, to make demands of her, to expect that she honour her promise to him? If he insisted and denied her a free choice, was he no better than any of the others?

He closed his eyes and huffed. For years he had waited for Mary to be his, and now that they were on the cusp of it, he couldn't help but be scared that he might be acting too recklessly, might be taking away the very freedom that he had fought to win for her.

His eyes shot open when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his bedroom. He sat up when he heard the door open and close quickly. His breath caught as he smelled vanilla and rosewater in the dark air. The embers in his fireplace had died down a while ago, making his visitor appear as but a shadow slowly approaching his bed.

"Who goes there?" he whispered.

"Lady Mary Carlisle, though not for very much longer," Mary answered.

"Mary," he sighed.

She came to bed and sat down next to him. All trepidation vanished as he took her in his arms and kissed her, the feel of her soft lips and tongue against his, her warm body pressed to him making him wonder if he had fallen asleep and was imagining it all. The darkness only made his other senses more focused, and he breathed her in, holding her close as though he was never going to let go.

"Matthew," she sobbed, hugging him tight. "We're here."

He smiled and nodded, nuzzling her neck. "It seems unbelievable."

"It does. If this is but a figment of our imaginations, let's remain blissfully ignorant a while longer," she laughed shakily.

"I could not agree more," he smiled, kissing her skin over and over.

They eventually settled under the blankets together, her head resting on his shoulder and chest just like those glorious nights in October. They each had dozens of questions and they babbled back and forth, interrupting each other and finishing each other's answers, laughing and kissing through their enthusiastic conversation. He told her about Anne helping him lure Carlisle to the Criterion and how they had sparred over dinner. He mentioned his terms for her divorce, including that both sides would keep the other's secrets confidential. She walked him through the night when Richard released her, how sudden and unexpected it all was. She explained how much she appreciated Mama, Granny and Edith supporting her, and how she couldn't believe that her Grandmamma Martha had affirmed an affidavit to help keep the secret of Mary's true lineage locked away.

"You never gave up on me, did you?" she said softly, barely able to make out his blue eyes in the darkness, but feeling his warm breath on her face. "You never gave up on us."

"I did in the past but not now," he replied. "You're worth every effort, my darling."

She kissed him softly. "I must say that I never believed you could do it. There just seemed to be too many obstacles. Richard publishing. Grandmamma taking back the money. Losing my place in Society. It seemed impossible. It still does in a way."

"I know that it's difficult for you to imagine this, but I would have had you even if you were ruined and shunned. You were willing to be with me when I was broken and useless and too blind to see it. 'On any terms' you said. I didn't understand it then, but I know it now. I love you to the very ending of the world."

She smiled and kissed him again. "Suddenly six months seems like an awfully long time to wait."

He chuckled. "I have an idea on how we might pass the time, actually."

Even without much light, he could see her arch her eyebrow in question. "Do you?"

He smiled and nodded. "I want to take a trip."

She frowned now. "A trip? Where?"

"To Spain," he answered.

Her eyes widened. "Spain? Whatever for?"

"It will get us away from here so you won't be in the country when the decree is issued. It will take some time for the newspapers and Society to find out, but once they do, they'll be trying to track you down. Best if we're not here. Murray can deal with Carlisle if he gets out of hand, but I expect he'll want to lay low himself," he stated.

"Wouldn't the French Riviera not be more suitable, not to mention closer?" she noted. "My Spanish is non-existent, but my French is impeccable."

He chuckled and kissed her. "My Spanish is rudimentary, but adequate for our purposes. I chose Spain because I have some business there."

"Business? It can't be for your practice. I would think you aren't trained in Spanish law," she questioned.

"Quite right," he nodded. "No, it's more personal business. I'll tell you all about it when we get there."

"Well, I don't have much choice, do I? I must rely upon your charity until the divorce is final and I get my life back, whatever state it may be in," she shrugged. "I am yours to command, my Lord."

It was meant as a joke, but he frowned in response.

"Darling?" she probed, detecting his unease. "What is it?"

"Mary, I love you so very much. I want us to be together for the rest of our lives," he said quietly.

She nodded. "Yes, I know."

"Well, as lovely a thought as that is, I feel as though I'm not being fair to you," he admitted.

"What do you mean?" she frowned.

"We've never properly courted," he said. "I proposed to you after our very first kiss. We've been through so much, and yet it always seems that there's been something looming over us. We've never taken the time to truly get to know each other."

She arched her eyebrow in question.

He rolled his eyes. "All right, clearly we _know_ each other. What I mean is that I don't want to be another man who rules your life and decides what direction it will go. Once you're divorced, you should be free to choose your own way, and not feel as though you must accept me to save your reputation, or live off of my fortune, or anything else. You'll always have my love and support, and this trip to Spain is to help you, not to bind you to me. When we come back, I don't want to put any expectations on you. I don't want to do anything to deny you your freedom or make it seem as though you must do as I say."

She stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Now that you mention it, there were a great many things that I was resigned to never experience due to my forced marriage to Richard. Once I'm divorced, I'll finally have the chance to indulge myself as a modern woman."

He swallowed tightly. "Yes, exactly. When we return from our trip and the decree becomes absolute, you can take all of the time you need."

"I always wanted to go to Paris to see the new fashions," she grinned. "Edith and Sybil won't be in any condition to accompany me by then, but perhaps Mama will go, or I could travel with friends. Lady Cunard has been countless times and raves about the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, and especially the after-hours clubs there. Apparently, they are absolutely debaucherous!"

He frowned but measured his reply. "Yes, you would be free to travel as much as you like."

"Maybe I can go and visit Grandmamma in America," she mused. "New York and Newport are wonderful in late summer and autumn. Plus, there's California. I've heard such amazing things about it. There's a film industry there that sounds exciting and glamourous. I'd love to visit and meet some of the stars, go to their lavish parties and celebrate my freedom."

"That sounds intriguing, yes," he muttered.

"Then again, maybe I ought to stay closer to home. Once word of my divorce spreads, there will be plenty of invitations, I expect. Women can be quite callous and petty, but men have no such qualms, do they? Why, Henry will probably be beating down my door the moment he finds out!" she laughed.

He frowned at that. "That's quite true. He would do that."

"There's no reason for me to marry again right away," she mused. "It's a new world where women are more empowered than ever before. Who's to say that I can't wait a year, even two or three before settling down again? I've been trapped for the past two years, even longer. I owe it to myself to get out there and enjoy life for a while, don't I?"

"Yes, you do," he agreed, his voice tight. "Have all the time you need and see where life takes you."

She smiled at him before shaking her head and laughing freely.

He frowned at her. "What is so comical, may I ask?"

"You," she replied simply before moving on top of him and kissing him hard.

He blinked in surprise before kissing her back, his hands moving along her sides and coming around to grasp her bottom through her thin nightgown.

"Do you not recall when you proposed to me and I said yes?" she whispered playfully between kisses. "Did you think I was wearing your ring for the past five months just for fun?"

"Oh, Mary," he grinned, holding her tight to him.

"I'm yours, Matthew," she declared happily. "If you think that I'm going to wait a single second after those six months are over to officially become your wife, you're mad. Why in God's name, after everything that we've had to endure to be together, would I possibly want to hold off?"

He laughed in relief and kissed her again. "Oh, my darling. I just want you to be sure, that's all. You've had so little choice in your life, so little power. I want you to be completely certain this time."

"I am completely certain that any other man would pale in comparison to you," she replied. "Being your wife doesn't mean I'm giving up anything at all, Matthew. It means I'll finally get to be who I want to be, and not because marrying you will give me a life, but because your love and support mean more to me than anything else in the world. Seeing the world and having these adventures will feel empty if I can't share them with you."

"You don't know what it means to hear you say that," he smiled.

She kissed his neck while her hands moved down his bare chest to slip beneath his pyjama trousers. "It's very easy to say. The idea that after we're married, I'll get to fuck you anytime I want is reason enough to run off to Gretna Green the day the decree is confirmed."

He laughed. "So you're marrying me for my body, is that it?"

"You have other uses, I suppose," she teased. "But your body is a very compelling reason, yes."

"Well, in that case, Lady Mary Crawley, I cannot wait for the day where I get to properly make you my wife," he grinned, rubbing her back as she moved down his front.

"Neither can I," she replied, kissing his chest. "In the meanwhile, though, I trust you have no objection to our acting as though we're already married?"

He shook his head. "None at all."

"Good," she smirked, arching her eyebrow at him as she knelt between his legs. "Allow me to do my wifely duties to you, then."

He groaned in pleasure as she pulled his trousers and shorts down and freed him to her hungry eyes. The trip to Spain would do them both good, giving them a chance to get away and be together where no one would recognize them. It was also a gambit on his part, an idea he had to try and limit the harm that Mary would suffer from the divorce. He didn't know if he would be successful or not, but as she took him into her mouth and her hands massaged his thighs, he felt powerful and strong. Mary had accepted him finally after all these years, and no matter what the world threw at them, they would be together. They deserved some joy at last, and he embraced it, enjoying her attentions for blissful minutes before he pulled her up and turned her on her back to return the favour.


	13. Chapter 13

**Previously:**

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, March 1922**

He laughed. "So you're marrying me for my body, is that it?"

"You have other uses, I suppose," she teased. "But your body is a very compelling reason, yes."

"Well in that case, Lady Mary Crawley, I cannot wait for the day where I get to properly make you my wife," he grinned, rubbing her back as she moved down his front.

"Neither can I," she replied, kissing his chest. "In the meanwhile, though, I trust you have no objection to our acting as though we're already married?"

He shook his head. "None at all."

"Good," she smirked, arching her eyebrow at him as she knelt between his legs. "Allow me to do my wifely duties to you, then."

He groaned in pleasure as she pulled his trousers and shorts down and freed him to her hungry eyes. The trip to Spain would do them both good, giving them a chance to get away and be together where no one would recognize them. It was also a gambit on his part, an idea he had to try and limit the harm that Mary would suffer from the divorce. He didn't know if he would be successful or not, but as she took him into her mouth and her hands massaged his thighs, he felt powerful and strong. Mary had accepted him finally after all these years, and no matter what the world threw at them, they would be together. They deserved some joy at last, and he embraced it, enjoying her attentions for blissful minutes before he pulled her up and turned her on her back to return the favour.

 **Chapter 13:**

 **Tea Room, Claridge's Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, March 1922**

"Matthew Crawley."

Violet looked over at her old friend, Lady Wilhelmina Cassel, and arched her eyebrow in question.

"Matthew Crawley," Wilhelmina repeated. "That is the man's name, isn't it? Matthew Crawley, the Eighth Earl of Grantham? Your cousin, correct? I've seen him at numerous events but never spoken to him beyond general pleasantries."

Violet nodded slowly. To any observer, it was another afternoon tea in the posh hotel, waiters walked briskly about balancing their silver trays filled with fine china teapots, scones and clotted cream. The conversation between the Dowager Countess and her friend was more a battle of wits than a friendly chat. While they enjoyed each other's company, both were here to probe for information. While Lady Wilhelmina was merely looking for gossip, Violet needed to be very careful in both what she revealed, and what she kept hidden.

"My son found Matthew years ago as the next male heir and he, of course, inherited upon Robert's death," Violet explained. "Why do you ask about him so suddenly?"

Wilhelmina glanced around the room before leaning forward and smiling knowingly. "The word is that he's your granddaughter Mary's lover, the reason that her marriage to Sir Richard Carlisle has, in all respects, ended."

Violet frowned with practised indignation. She took her time in sipping her tea before replying. "And who told you such nonsense?"

"It's slowly making the rounds," Wilhelmina replied easily. "They do have history, do they not? He proposed to her before the War if memory serves."

"He did, and that was a very long time ago," Violet noted. "He also took it back in the end. He was the one to end things with her."

"Some men take longer than others to come back around," Wilhelmina shrugged, reaching for her tea. "I never liked Mary with Sir Richard. I always expected her to do better."

"Mary's marriage is hardly ended," Violet continued, taking another sip. Though she was well aware that the petition had been filed and she was in the courtroom in York when the decree was issued, she could not reveal any of that, even to her close friend. Once the requisite six months passed and Mary was officially divorced, there would be a storm of attention and gossip which the family would deal with at that time. For now, the outside world would know nothing, though she was hardly surprised that there were rumours. Sir Richard had probably started them to put the focus on Mary's adultery, rather than the fact the marriage was a disaster from the outset.

"That's not what I hear," Wilhelmina countered. "He's been spotted in the city alone and unaccompanied. There's been no sight of Mary anywhere. Peculiar, that, considering how much they normally make appearances together."

Violet waved her hand dismissively. Mary and Matthew took the evening ferry to Calais last week. Ideally, they would have travelled separately, but with Edith and Anna in no condition to accompany her and no one else that the family could trust, it was left to Mary and Matthew to travel together and hope that they could be discrete. While no one in France or Spain would be looking for them, all it took was one sighting to filter back to London and the scrutiny over the state of Mary's marriage would increase far beyond some idle chatter.

"If they have any problems, they'll work it through as all couples do. You know that divorce is frowned upon for our kind of people," Violet finished.

"I disagree. Divorcing Louis was the best decision I ever made," Wilhelmina replied. "The marriage had run its course and I wasn't prepared to endure it for no reason. Then again, our family were hardly ever nobles like yours."

"No, you're far richer," Violet smirked. "Your own situation is hardly typical. After your divorce, you had your brother to prop you up."

"I did," Wilhelmina smiled. "If others had their way, I would have been banned from Royal Ascot and countless more events, shunned just for being divorced. Thankfully, dear Ernest's connections and money were able to keep those doors open to me, and rightfully so. Our family helped build many of the fortunes in this country."

"And now here you are. You've made it through the wars and you're on to planning the wedding of the century," Violet noted.

Wilhelmina huffed. "I fear for those two. Edwina is more than he can handle, I think."

Violet frowned. "How so?"

Wilhelmina shook her head. "Ernest doted on her far too much. He left her millions, which means that she will hold all of the wealth in her marriage."

"That is hardly a rare occurrence," Violet stated.

"Yes, that's true, but she is the rare woman who will ensure that her husband never forgets that he owes his lifestyle to her. It's one thing to bring the money into a marriage, and quite another to keep it. His salary is a pittance by comparison. He cannot dare oppose her or leave her, for he will find himself destitute," Wilhelmina explained.

"You think she will be reckless?" Violet asked.

Wilhelmina nodded. "Ernest spoiled her far too much, and never had her earn anything. A strong man could keep her in line, but Dickie isn't that. He's a sailor, loves the Navy, and is entirely hopeless when it comes to the personality required to keep a woman enthralled. He's handsome, but she is perfectly capable of finding other handsome men. I do hope that I am wrong but her thirst for excitement may get her into trouble. I suppose if that does occur, at least Ernest will not be here to see his precious granddaughter disappoint him."

Violet considered her answer. Mary was far removed from her debut and she had been forced to grow up far faster than any of the family would have preferred. She certainly would not have great wealth of her own following the divorce and although Violet was not aware of her recent past, particularly what she got up to during her stay at Downton with Matthew, she was confident that her reckless days had been sufficiently sobering to prevent any recurrence once she was free of her husband.

"Edwina may surprise you," Violet offered. "All it takes is a difficult episode to give one perspective."

"I do hope you are right," Wilhelmina nodded. "Now, then, you won't tell me anything more about this Matthew?"

"He is one of the finest and hardest working gentlemen I know and our family is lucky to have him leading us forward," Violet declared.

"That is an effusive testimonial, coming from you," Wilhelmina commented in surprise. "Well, if he isn't involved with your Mary, perhaps I ought to introduce him to mine? Edwina's sister is far less radical than she is."

"I'm afraid he is traveling at the moment and will not be back for at least a month," Violet advised.

"I'll see what the summer brings, then," Wilhelmina nodded. "An Earl with his own property and fortune is becoming more and more of a rare prize these days. I imagine he must have women lining up to swoon over him."

"A few, I think," Violet nodded. "Matthew is rather discerning, however. You may be disappointed."

"We shall see. A man in his position can have the pick of who he likes," Wilhelmina agreed. "Now, let me tell you about the guest list for the wedding. The Royals who have confirmed they are attending are most impressive."

Violet smiled and sipped her tea, listening mildly while Wilhelmina regaled her about the esteemed guests for her grand-niece's summer wedding. Their chat confirmed that there were already rumours of the breakdown of Mary's marriage, but very few details. Her reputation had been spared thus far. Violet could only wish that once the damage was done, Matthew would have some means of propping Mary back up and seeing her through the worst that was yet to come.

 **Royal Suite, Palace Hotel, Plaza de las Cortes, Madrid, Spain, April 1922**

He was always known as nice. That's what everyone always called him. Friends, family, teachers at school when he was younger, football coaches and tennis umpires, even other officers in the Army. Nice.

 _'That Matthew boy is just so very nice.'_

 _'Why can't you be nice like your friend, Matthew?'_

 _'For God's sake, Crawley, you're too nice out there! Get stuck in and win that ball back!'_

 _'That's a nice job, Crawley. Real nice. Now you and your men rest up. You're going right back out there to do it all over again.'_

As he grew older, he learned that nice meant boring. Nice meant safe. Nice meant predictable. When his mates wanted to ditch class and play truant, he wouldn't go along, but neither did he rat them out to the teachers. In university, when his friends were out getting drunk and doing all manner of things, he was the one who got them home in one piece, even when he was a bit tipsy himself. When Robert summoned him to Downton Abbey all those years ago, it was his inclination to politely decline the life he was offered, back when he was naïve enough to believe that he could.

Boring, safe, predictable Matthew Crawley. The nice one. It wasn't an insult, at least not entirely. It didn't particularly bother him, especially since when it came to certain facets of his life, it wasn't nearly true.

"Oh God, you beast! Mercy, please!" Mary whinged, shaking her head side-to-side frantically.

He grinned, his blue eyes crawling up her naked body, the sunshine streamed in through the windows and across the bed, making her pale skin glow. He pressed down on her thighs, keeping her spread open and gave her another slow swipe of his tongue.

"No," he growled. "We're finished when I say we're finished, Mary, and not a second earlier."

She moaned and clutched the bedsheets tighter in her grasping hands, arching her back as he resumed his deliberate and determined attentions, his mouth building her up to yet another shattering release. Her legs felt like jelly, her blood enflamed and racing, her hair damp and strewn about. Never had she ever imagined being ravished in the middle of the day. Such behaviour was for wanton women who didn't have the good sense to wait until the privacy of late evening. Ever since October, though, her view on the proper time for sex had changed drastically. When it came to Matthew, anytime suited her perfectly well.

"Are you close?" he asked casually, his voice sounding absurdly light considering what he was doing to her poised between her legs.

"Yes!" she nodded. "So, so close!"

"Good," he replied, his tone a dire warning in her head that she could do absolutely nothing about, nor did she want him to stop.

They behaved themselves during the ferry crossing to Calais and the train to Paris, doing nothing more than holding hands in their private cabin. She slept in his arms each night in their sleeper car on the way to Toulouse and over to Madrid, his touch a soothing comfort, the warmth and scent of him the most wonderful sleeping draught. It wasn't until their arrival here, registered as Lord Grantham and his cousin, Lady Josephine Levinson, that they finally had the freedom to be together.

And they were making up for lost time with great determination.

His hand slid across her heated skin and found her spot. A flick of his fingers. A kiss of his lips. A stab of his tongue. He added a perfectly placed firm press and she flew.

"Matthew!" she called, almost twisting to the side, shaking in bliss. Even with her pending divorce, this was adultery, sex with a man who wasn't her husband. It was wicked, sinful, and absolutely thrilling. She could never regret it, never wish to take it back. She loved him more than any other man she had ever known, and being with him again after thinking she had said goodbye to him forever could be nothing else but a miracle.

He held on to her, keeping her pinned to the bed as she writhed in pleasure. He caressed her soothingly, knowing how sensitive she would be from their lovemaking. It was selfish of him to feed his ego with her rapture, but he couldn't help himself. To watch the woman he loved fall apart, to hear her cries of delight, to know that he was making her feel something no man, including her husband had ever done filled him with greedy pride. He ought to have stopped after her first spend, allowed her to rest before pursuing her second, and never drove her to a third. That would have been the nice thing to do.

Which was exactly why he didn't stop.

"Mary," he growled, kissing his way up her body, grinning as he heard her pant for breath. "You are so incredible. I love you so much."

All she could do was groan, weakly returning his kiss as he covered her body with his.

"Insatiable," she mumbled, hugging him lazily before letting him turn her on to her side so she could snuggle against him. "You've made me useless for the rest of the day. I expect that was entirely by your design. Keeping me in your bed, at your service?"

He chuckled and rubbed her back. "We must recover from our long journey, my darling. There is much for us to see and do in the time we have here. How foolish would it be to venture out immediately without taking sufficient rest first?"

She laughed and pressed against his side, her hand moving down to massage him.

"I must take care of you," she drawled. "How do you want me?"

He smiled. "There will plenty of time for that later. Sleep now. I know you're worn out."

She raised her head and arched her eyebrow at him. "You think you've gotten the best of me, have you?"

He smirked and nodded cheekily.

"Let's just see about that," she declared.

He grinned and watched her kiss her way down his front.

"I have a challenge for you, Lord Grantham, given that you are a notorious gambler," she teased, taking hold of him and licking him slowly.

"What would that be?" he rasped, staring down at her with wide eyes.

"I bet that you won't last more than five minutes," she smirked, laving him with wet kisses. "Are you game?"

He grinned. "It seems that I win either way, doesn't it?"

She smiled and nodded. "Perhaps. Then again, we haven't discussed the stakes."

He sighed as she slid him past her lips for just a moment, her dark eyes bewitching him easily while she gave him a preview of what was in store.

"What did you have in mind?" he muttered, his fingers shaking with the urge to reach for her.

"Money seems rather boring," she shook her head, stroking him slowly.

"And unnecessary in our case," he replied. "What's mine will soon be yours."

She grinned happily at the thought. Most men considered their wives to be inferior to them. Richard certainly did. The rare man who spoke of being an equal partner with his wife was never likely to follow through. When Matthew said it, however, she believed him. How could she not after all he had done? Even all those years ago before she was married when he witnessed Richard's deplorable behaviour towards her at dinner, he had freely offered his help.

 _'You don't have to marry him, you know. You don't have to marry anyone. You'll always have a home here as long as I'm alive.'_

She told him he was wrong back then, but didn't give the reason. Her deliverance was impossible, or so she believed, and when she finally told him in October, she thought he believed it, too.

He was more stubborn than she realized.

"What about the winner gets to set the itinerary for the coming week?" she suggested, kissing his warm skin, a jolt of arousal spreading through her at how strong he felt in her hands.

"Again, rather unnecessary," he smiled. "I expect there are numerous places that we both wish to visit. When we go and in what order is not particularly of concern to me."

She arched her eyebrow at him wryly. "You're entirely too agreeable sometimes, you know."

"I believe I have good reason to be in this moment," he joked. "I can't see how this doesn't work out brilliantly for me."

She quirked her eyebrows knowingly. "I suppose we could make it interesting by saying that whether you receive such special attention from me again will depend on if you win the bet or not."

He blinked in shock. "What?"

She laughed at the sudden alarm on his face, though the rest of his body remained as eager as ever.

"Darling, I would never insist that you are required to do anything for me that you don't wish to," he stammered. "However, if those are the stakes, it seems rather unfair. Won't we both suffer from such a drastic measure if I were to lose?"

She looked at him pointedly. "Are you saying that we both enjoy this particular act?"

He nodded. "Don't we?"

"A Lady does not admit to such things, Matthew," she stated haughtily.

"You can't say it? Even to me?" he questioned, his blue eyes clouded over with lust.

"Well, perhaps if it remained between just the two of us," she allowed, licking him again. "All right, let's just leave the betting aside."

He groaned as the warmth of her mouth enveloped him. Keeping track of time soon became one of the last things he wanted to do.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1922**

"And this is the paper….unless you hate it," Edith mumbled, glancing over at her mother nervously.

Cora cast a discerning eye on the sample of paper that would be adorning the walls of the nursery. She gazed over at the blank space, picturing the design and how it might look with furniture. Finally, she smiled and nodded to her daughter.

"I think it's lovely, my dear. You've chosen well," Cora declared.

Edith smiled and breathed out in relief. "I think it's a good colour for a girl or a boy. After all, once Sybil comes to visit we may have more than one baby in here. And there's the future to think about."

Cora laughed. "One child at a time, now. When you have more than one, you'll want to stay at Loxley I imagine. You might live close enough, but traveling with two young ones is not easy."

Edith shrugged. "We'll manage. Besides, even when we're not here, the nursery will still get some use. Mary will have children of her own."

Cora sighed. "I hope so."

Edith frowned. "Do you doubt it? I should think she'll give Matthew an heir before the year is out."

Cora frowned and flipped a fabric swatch over. "They aren't married yet, Edith."

"It's only a matter of time, Mama," Edith shook her head. "Once the divorce is final, they'll be wed and she'll be installed here as Countess of Grantham like she always dreamed. Why should you think otherwise?"

"I don't think that anyone understands the storm that will cover them both once her story gets out," Cora replied. "Your sister is in for a great deal of hardship. To be known as a failure at marriage is no small thing."

"Which is why marrying Matthew will help her through all of that," Edith stated. "You've seen how determined he can be. He won't let her fall, Mama."

"He believes that now, but he's never had to face the kind of vitriol that she will. As her supposed lover, he'll be caught up in it all. The early days for a couple are trying enough as it is without having to face ridicule and insults. He must still continue his work in the House of Lords and in Society. It will be difficult for him."

"He won't abandon her now, Mama," Edith said resolutely. "That isn't how he is. That's not how they are with each other. I dare say that he's only man that Mary's ever truly loved."

"That was a long time ago, Edith. They're different people now," Cora shook her head. "I hope that he is strong enough, as you say. Mary won't have anywhere else to turn if he isn't."

Edith looked away, her thoughts jumbled. It seemed mad to question Matthew's devotion to Mary. Sometimes she didn't quite understand what her mother meant. However, she would soon be a mother herself, and she could appreciate the constant worrying, the fear that your child may be in some trouble and the desperation when you could do very little about it. Mama was directly involved in Mary's Pamuk scandal, and that episode still haunted her all these years later. All the same, after everything that Matthew had done for Mary, surely he deserved the family's faith?

"Your Ladyship, pardon me," Carson called, standing at attention at the door.

"Yes, Carson?" Cora replied, turning around to look at him. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not quite," Carson nodded. "It's His Lordship, you see. He left rather specific instructions for certain renovations to one of the small salons, and we aren't quite sure what to make of them."

"I'll go and see," Cora replied, giving Edith a concerned look.

They both followed Carson back downstairs and through to one of the small salons off the Great Hall. It wasn't quite as large as the main ballroom, but it was still a fair-sized room that they used for entertaining smaller parties. All of the furniture had been cleared away and the floor swept clean. The far wall was empty, with workers standing on ladders to take out the light sconces that had been mounted there before.

"His Lordship asked for this work to be done? He wanted the lights removed?" Cora asked, looking peculiarly at the bare wall.

"Yes, Your Ladyship," Carson nodded. "I can't fathom what the purpose is."

Edith frowned as she also looked at the wall, wondering what Matthew was up to. During parties, this side of the room was usually where they set up the bar since there were no windows. She glanced around, trying to decipher what the purpose was of taking down the lights and darkening this side. There was plenty of natural light since once wall included large doors that opened the salon to the outside, but they wouldn't reach over to this end of the room in any event.

"His Lordship has his reasons, I expect," Cora shrugged. "Ensure the men carry out their tasks properly and I expect we'll see the purpose of all of this when he returns from Spain."

"Yes, Your Ladyship," Carson acknowledged before turning back to supervise the workers.

Cora took one last look around the room before turning to go. "I almost forgot that we had this room. I wonder what Matthew plans for it."

"Perhaps it's an electrical issue?" Edith suggested, following her mother through the Great Hall and back towards the stairs. "He might be just updating the lighting."

"Maybe, though I would think that he would replace the lights with newer ones, rather than remove them entirely," Cora noted. "We'll just have to wait for him to return next month to see what he intended."

They rose up the stairs and returned to the nursery.

"Now, where do you plan on placing the cribs and other furniture? There needs to be chairs and a bed for Nanny," Cora asked.

Edith smiled. "There's room for three cribs along the window, and I thought Nanny's area could be over here."

Cora watched in approval as her daughter showed her the layout for the room. The prospect of children at Downton Abbey once again had her soon forgetting about whatever mystery Matthew was planning downstairs.

 **Chocolateria San Gines, Puerta del Sol, Madrid, Spain, April 1922**

Mary sat nonchalantly at the outside table, glancing around through her dark sunglasses. The sun was bathing the small street that was no more than an alley, lighting up the yellow painted walls of the tall buildings on around her and the stone tiles beneath. Every day of their stay in Spain had been sunny so far, such a departure from back home. It wasn't stifling hot, but pleasantly warm, and she was quite enjoying it. Tourists and locals passed by in a steady stream on their way to the nearby Puerta del Sol and she just sat back and watched, in no hurry at all.

Her nerves had gradually calmed over the past week, each day becoming a bit more comfortable. When they first arrived, she was anxious, afraid that even so far away from London, she would be caught out somehow. Madrid was the capital city of Spain, and even though she barely heard any English, every loose look in her direction made her suspicious. Did the hotel clerk recognize her even though she was using a rather lame alias? Was the housekeeper taking note that she was sharing a suite with a man who wasn't her husband? Did the waiter at the restaurant from the other night recognize her from her photos in newspapers? It took a few days for her to relax and not believe there was a spy or newspaper reporter hiding behind every corner.

"Here we are," Matthew smiled, coming out of the cramped little café carrying a tray. He set it down before her and took his seat.

"There are waiters for that, you know," she teased, her smile widening as she gazed at the treats he had brought out.

"Waiting for a waiter would delay us," he shook his head, placing a cup of dark thick chocolate before her followed by a cup of lighter coffee with milk. "Besides, I'm not particularly open to another man bringing you sweets."

She laughed and watched as he picked up one of the thin, crisp _churros_ and dipped it in the chocolate. Her mouth began watering at the sight of it.

"Go on," he nodded. "Just put it in your mouth and taste it."

She arched her eyebrow at him suspiciously. "I seem to recall the last time you gave me such instructions. Your special cocktail?"

He smiled. "You liked it, though."

She frowned wryly. "It was fine, but I believe I told you that I preferred it from a glass the next time."

"Well, this is just fried pastry dough and chocolate," he nodded. "Completely safe and entirely scrumptious."

She nodded and took the crisp treat from him, carefully dipped it in the chocolate and brought it to her lips. Looking at him cheekily from behind her sunglasses, she licked the chocolate slowly before taking a bite.

"Mmm," she sighed, grinning at his dazed expression. "Delicious."

He cleared his throat and dipped his own pastry in the chocolate. They sat in silence watching each other, the sweet taste of the _churros_ warming them. He felt ridiculously smug. Here they were in a foreign land, just the two of them. No chaperone, no escort, not even servants to attend to them. They were just another couple in a city full of them, unbound by time or obligation. Though they had dined at some wonderful restaurants already, he found it a bit of a coup to have convinced Mary to try the _chocolate con churros_ with him. The café was famous and impeccably designed, but it was still a bit of a hole in the wall compared to the grand establishments she was used to.

"Well, that was lovely," she declared, dabbing at her mouth with her napkin before sipping the coffee.

"I'm pleased to see you enjoying a common dessert, my darling," he smiled.

She arched her eyebrow at him. "Why shouldn't I? We have no status here."

He chuckled and nodded. Reaching across the table, he took her hand in his and squeezed her fingers gently. "Agreed. We are merely two tourists enjoying another lovely day in Spain."

She grinned, not removing her hand from his hold. In the early days of their stay she didn't take his arm when they walked out in public, or allow him to hold her hand. Gradually she became more at ease, seeing this trip more as a vacation than an escape from London. Now they strolled through parks and large squares of the city without reservation, her hand holding on to him, her smile bright and free. Whatever awaited them back home would come when it did. For now she was in Madrid with the man she loved, the man she would soon marry, and she allowed herself to enjoy it.

"I wouldn't call us mere tourists," she shrugged. "We are different in many respects."

"Darling, we may have one of the more lavish hotel rooms in the city, but that doesn't change the fact that we're strangers in this place, completely and wonderfully anonymous."

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, that's true, however, I was referring to your rowing skills. I should hope that most tourists are far better."

He frowned at her in indignation and withdrew his hand from hers. "I thought I was quite accomplished, actually, given that it's been so long since I last was on a boat."

She laughed and shook her head. He had taken her out on the large pond in the Retiro Park, the setting quite romantic with the lush trees and classic monuments and statues all around them. Her pleasant mood had turned to amusement when he struggled to keep them moving in a straight direction. They seemed to be confined to one part of the pond, rather than traveling across it. She wasn't afraid that they would capsize at any moment, but to see Matthew unable to master a rather basic skill was refreshing and quite fun.

"I suppose the idea was quite inspired, even if the execution was not," she joked.

He rolled his eyes. "There's the Lady Mary I know. It isn't enough to spirit you off to Spain on an exotic adventure. A man must be a champion rower on top of that."

"I'll settle for average," she laughed.

"I trust you are referring to rowing skills only," he replied pointedly.

She laughed again.

"Well, let me see if our next stop impresses you," he nodded, rising to his feet. He offered her his hand. "Ready?"

"Always," she smiled, taking his hand and standing up. Arm-in-arm, he led her down the street.

 **Stamford Bridge, Fulham, London, England, April 1922**

 _"Hello, Mr Talbot."_

"Hello."

 _"Good luck to you, Mr Talbot, sir."_

"Thank you, thank you."

 _"You show them boys, Mr Talbot."_

"I most certainly will try to, my good man. Thank you."

Henry smiled and nodded as the spectators made their way past and up towards their seats. Sitting in the pricier part of the stand, he was a bit closer to the field, but also near enough to the aisle that everyone trying to get to their seats came almost within an arm's length of him. He didn't mind. They couldn't quite touch him, but they could still see him and give him their well wishes for the upcoming grand prix season.

He looked across the running track to the football pitch where the Chelsea F.C. players were warming up for the second half. A smattering of boos rose up from the crowd when the opposing team – Huddersfield Town – came out. Henry only smiled. While he was a Chelsea fan, Huddersfield were fighting for the league championship, while Chelsea was struggling to avoid relegation to a lower league.

"Not a bad first half, eh Henry?" Evelyn noted, making his way to his seat a row in front.

"They lads are giving them a go," Henry nodded, shaking Evelyn's hand. Though they weren't particularly good friends, they did socialize rather often through their mutual mate, Charlie Rogers, another car racer.

"Congratulations, Evelyn, by the way," Henry smiled. "Charlie mentioned your engagement. Lady Anne is a lovely woman. You're very lucky."

Evelyn beamed at the mention of his new fiancée. "I am, thank you. We're having a reception in a week to make it official. Invitations went out today. You'll be there, of course?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Henry smiled. "I must say that I wasn't aware that you and Anne knew each other. The last I saw her was at a dinner in Yorkshire where she was the guest of Matthew Crawley."

Evelyn nodded. "She and Lord Grantham are friends, yes, but nothing serious ever came of that."

"His loss, then, right old boy?" Henry laughed.

Evelyn smiled. "Indeed. Well, I don't think that he's overly broken up about it. I was at Downton for the Hunt in January and he wished me well. I don't think he's looking for a wife at the moment, or at least, he was never envisioning Anne as his, and I'm the better for it."

Henry nodded. "They seemed to get along splendidly when I saw them, but I suppose Anne was just being courteous. I should think that Matthew would want to get back out there sooner rather than later. He needs a Countess doesn't he? Sad story what happened to his fiancée, Lavinia. My father actually knew her uncle years ago."

"Very sad, yes," Evelyn agreed. "Though, to be honest, I don't think he's ever quite gotten over Mary. The two of them were so well-matched, you know."

Henry blinked in surprise. "Mary? Really? Well, he needs to forget about her. Pining after a married woman will lead nowhere."

Henry couldn't help but smirk at his own comment. It wasn't as if he was one to let marriage get in the way of his fun, but then he expected that Matthew Crawley was hardly as skilled in the art of seduction.

"You never know, Henry. Things can change," Evelyn smiled.

Henry frowned. "What are you talking about? Sir Richard keeps Mary under close watch, and so he should."

Henry smirked again. Tight watch, indeed.

"Not from what I've heard," Evelyn shook his head. "I understand that they'll soon be divorced. I've seen Sir Richard at numerous events over the past month and Mary hasn't been with him at all."

Henry's eyes widened at this new information. "A divorce? Really?"

"It's quite shocking, I agree," Evelyn nodded. "However, Mary never was one to follow the pack. If it's true and she'll be unattached once again, whoever is able to turn her head will be most fortunate."

"Fortunate, indeed," Henry nodded slowly. "No interest anymore, Evelyn?"

Evelyn smiled sheepishly and shook his head. "Anne makes me very happy, and Mary and I are best off as friends. I've learned that quite conclusively."

Henry nodded. "Good for you. Well, tell your father that I said hello and I'll see you at the club after the game, yes?"

"See you there," Evelyn confirmed, touching his hat before heading off to his join his father.

Henry looked out to the pitch as the second half got underway. He didn't pay much attention, and barely even cheered when Chelsea scored what would prove to be an unlikely winning goal. His mind was awash with possibilities over what Evelyn had unwittingly disclosed. If Mary was headed for divorce from Sir Richard, she would soon be back on the market, as they say. Society would be aghast at the news. Henry wasn't one of the gentry, but he knew how they liked to treat those who were seen as outcasts or beneath them. Mary was one of the elite, her parties and events considered highlights of every Season. Without Sir Richard's money and influence behind her, and with everyone gossiping about what happened to lead to the divorce, she would fall down the hierarchy, at least for a year or two. Opportunity was presenting itself very nicely, indeed.

He smirked, plans forming in his mind. While he didn't have the money of these toffs, his name was far more well-known than most of the Earls and Dukes who were barely able to stay afloat financially after the War. He could offer Mary something that few men could – legitimacy. They could be a superstar couple, like Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford. They would be inundated with invitations, people clamouring for them to attend their parties and dinners to give that extra dash of glamour.

He grinned, envisioning how grateful Mary would be for his generosity. She wouldn't want to dive right back into marriage, which suited him perfectly well. Without the shackles of Sir Richard holding her back, his mind spun at how delightful it would be to experience a truly uninhibited Mary, to have her completely with nothing to stop him from demanding anything of her that he wished. When they were out together, he took great pleasure in compelling a married woman to pay him attention, but a freshly divorced Mary, desperate for a saviour from Society's cruelty would be even more delectable.

The smile didn't leave his face even after the game was over and he made his way to the club. As soon as he met up with Charlie at the bar he ordered a double of Whiskey and downed it with zest.

 **Museo Nacional Del Prado, Madrid, Spain, April 1922**

Mary could not wipe the smile from her face and didn't even bother trying. In her travels, she'd been to the National Gallery in London and the Louvre and Musée d'Orsay in Paris, as well as having the good fortune to see numerous private art collections in stately homes all over England. The various pieces owned by her family and displayed at Downton Abbey were impressive in their own right. Even still, all of them paled in comparison to what she saw now touring the halls of the Prado.

The difference, she gathered, was that the Prado focused mainly on paintings and sculpture. She couldn't remember seeing a single suit of armour, model boat or other museum piece. It was wall after wall of incredible European art, from Spanish and Italian masters that she had only read about or seen small samples of their work in other galleries, to well-known artists from across the Continent. Goya. Bosch. Rubens. El Greco. Raphael. Caravaggio. Rembrandt. Every room they entered, she thought to herself 'if only they had so-and-so also…' only to be awed by seeing yet another masterpiece standing before her.

Matthew had hired an English-speaking guide to give them a tour. She was hesitant at first, not wanting to be limited by anyone else's plans. As usual, Matthew knew her best. The guide merely followed along and answered all of their questions, letting her lead the way.

"Darling," Matthew called. "Did you have any other questions? Alvaro is going to take a bit of break now and join us later."

"I'm fine, thanks," Mary smiled, nodding to Alvaro, who bowed and took his leave. She beamed when Matthew came over to her and took her hands in his.

"Enjoying yourself, I take it?" he grinned.

"Oh, Matthew, this place…it's absolutely divine!" she exclaimed, keeping her voice down so that her enthusiasm wouldn't be completely embarrassing. "I never knew the collection here was so extensive."

He nodded smugly. "It's quite impressive, yes. Most people like to brag about how they've been to Paris. A few can even claim to have visited Rome and Florence. This place is a bit of a secret, though, which I think makes it all the more stunning."

"Absolutely," she nodded. "There are numerous works here that would dwarf the best of what I've seen in England."

He smiled. "That's a very appropriate and timely comment, my darling."

She arched her eyebrow at him curiously. "Why?"

He placed her arm in his and nodded towards the next room. "Come and see."

She gave him a puzzled look and followed him through a set of towering doors. Another aspect of the Prado that impressed her was its sheer size. Though the paintings and sculptures were all displayed at optimal eye level, the high walls and ceilings gave a majestic quality to everything, a grandeur that matched the reputations of the artists.

"What was it that you wanted to show me?" she asked, looking over at Matthew.

He smiled and inclined his head towards the far wall in front of them.

She looked away from him and her eyes almost popped out of her head.

She would later learn that the canvas was just over ten feet in height and nine feet across, but it may as well have been double or triple that for how imposing it was. The painting was quite dark, consisting of a shadowy background that contrasted with the figures standing in the centre. A tiny blonde-haired girl in a flowing white dress seemed to be staring out at the viewer conspiratorially. Her hairstyle and the decorative touches on her clothes indicated that she was important, even royalty. She was surrounded by maids, two dwarfs, a dog and a painter who also seemed to be looking straight at Mary somehow. Her eyes travelled over the painting, her lips parted in wonder. She had read about this piece, had a governess tell her about how incredible it was, even though the old woman had never set foot outside of England, such was its reputation. Mary knew it was Spanish, but she never fathomed that it would be here in Madrid, and available for public viewing.

" _Las Meninas_ ," she whispered, almost laughing incredulously that this seminal painting was here before her.

"Some would wonder why so much attention and tribute has been paid to this piece," Matthew noted. "It's just a snapshot of life in the Spanish Court during the 17th century."

"It's so much more than that," she shook her head. "The painter is Velázquez himself. This was the only self-portrait he did, and he chose to depict himself among royalty. Back in his time, artists were seen as mere labourers. By painting himself in this scene, he's showing that artists have a place of honour, which was a rather radical thought back then."

He smiled and nodded, pleased to see her face light up as she gazed at the painting. "It's almost as if this was his way of breaking free of whatever label Society tried to place upon him. He refused to be just a painter, just another servant of the King. Others may have disagreed, even laughed at him for his own folly, but he valued his own self-worth over the opinions of others."

She turned and looked at his earnest expression.

"You brought me here for more than just the chance to see some beautiful art, didn't you?" she asked softly.

He took a deep breath. "I know that these next months are going to be difficult, especially after word gets out about you and Carlisle and the decree becomes absolute."

She swallowed and nodded.

"I'll stand by you and support you through everything," he promised. "I love you, Mary. Nothing anyone says will change that, especially some useless toffs."

She laughed shakily. "It won't be so bad. I'll be far removed at Downton and I just won't read the newspapers or answer letters, is all. I'll have to skip the Season, maybe even two or three. After a year or so, everyone will move on to another story, another distraction. It could always take longer than that, but it doesn't matter. I'll be fine."

She tried to smile bravely for him but she didn't quite believe her own words. Even after she married Matthew, the harsh truth that she was once Lady Mary Carlisle could not be erased. Everything she did would be compared to her former life, from something as simple as hosting a dinner to organizing a charity event. Society had a long memory and she had to accept that she might never rise back up to the rarefied status she once enjoyed. It was entirely worth it to be free of Richard and have her family secrets left in the past, but still she worried for Matthew, for herself and their future.

"Perhaps we can get some help from Velázquez for that," he replied.

She frowned. "What do you mean by that? Yes, in this painting he's telling us that life is a bit of an illusion and who we are can be changed and altered. It's a lovely thought, but when certain doors are closed in my face, when people I used to call my friends refuse to take my calls anymore, well, it will be trying, is all. I know you must think me ridiculous for caring about such things, but I'm afraid that's the only world I've ever known. It's hard enough to cope with the knowledge that my name isn't, in fact, my name. To have what I believe I am very good at taken away, well, it's going to take some time to adjust, that's all."

He nodded. "Or maybe you won't have to. You remember the night of the poker match, don't you?"

"Of course," she answered. "Little did I know how much my life would change after that night."

He smiled. "Yes, well, recall what you were doing that night while the rest of us played cards."

"I was hosting, like always," she shrugged. "Richard had just acquired _Head of a Woman_ and was eager to show it off."

"He was, yes. Why do you think so many people came out? Poker isn't especially exciting if you're not playing. Many of the hands end up being boring draws or small wins. It's rare to have large pots to fight over. Add to that the fair distance from London to Haxby and the turnout was quite exceptional, I thought."

"It was a combination of things, really," she replied. "The Season was essentially over and most people were back to their country homes. The lure of seeing a Picasso sculpture helped also."

"Exactly," he agreed. "It isn't as if anyone has a great affinity for Carlisle. They accepted him into their circle because of his money and because of you. It isn't as though they were eager to come watch him play cards. However, the idea of spending a lovely evening enjoying good food and exceptional art swayed them."

"I suppose that's true, yes," she acknowledged. "And?"

"And maybe your past transgressions, if we wish to call them that, can be easily overlooked if people have sufficient incentive to answer your invitation and come visit," he advised.

Her eyes widened. She looked up at the painting and back at Matthew.

"You can't be serious," she shook her head.

"Do I not look as though I'm serious?" he asked, his lips curved playfully but his eyes showing the look of love and determination that thrilled her.

" _Las Meninas_ is a national treasure," she pointed out. "They would never allow it to be loaned for exhibition, especially not to an English Earl. The size of it, transporting it back home, there would be safety concerns, it's quite impossible."

"If the museum was to entertain the idea of loaning it out, who it ended up going to would not be a great issue. Whether it goes to Barcelona or Yorkshire makes no difference. It's very large, but art is transported by rail all the time. It's all in the packaging. We wouldn't be able to simply take it away from here with our luggage, that's true. There would be staff who would accompany it, both for security and to ensure that we don't do anything improper with it. It just so happens that my home has several rooms available to accommodate such an entourage."

She scoffed at his answer, overwhelmed that he could even entertain such a ludicrous idea.

"Think about what this would do for you, Mary," he urged her. "Once word got out that we were exhibiting _Las Meninas_ at Downton, we would be turning people away in droves for lack of space. Anyone who would dare have a poor image of you from the divorce would have to keep quiet, otherwise they would miss out on the event of the year."

She smiled in spite of herself. His enthusiasm was adorable in its delusion. "What will you say to explain how you were able to procure it?"

He grinned. "There will be an announcement in the papers, naturally. 'The Earl of Grantham is pleased to announce the exhibition of _Las Meninas_ by the Spanish master, Diego Velázquez, to be held at his home of Downton Abbey, Yorkshire as a gift to celebrate his engagement to Lady Mary Crawley. Viewings by invitation only."

"You're mad," she laughed, her heartbeat fluttering with mounting excitement. "I admire your doggedness, but it is so very hard to believe you can accomplish this."

"Be as sceptical as you like. It's all right to not believe in what seems impossible actually somehow occurring," he nodded. "But believe in me, Mary. Believe that I am capable of this, that the idea, the attempt is not beyond me."

She took his hand and kissed it warmly, not caring who saw them. "My darling, if you have shown me anything these past few months, it is that you are capable of a great many things."

He grinned. "Everything began as a dream once, you know. I was somehow able to convince a man to give you up. That strikes me as a far more impressive feat."

She laughed and took his arm, following him out of the room. Before they left, she glanced back at the painting once again, still not quite convinced she had seen it in person. He led her down the hall to meet up with Alvaro once more, his daring plan still fresh in their minds.

 **Law Office of George Murray, Chelsea, London, England, April 1922**

Murray sighed and shook his head, the documents spread out on the large boardroom table before him seeming just as absurd as they did yesterday and the day before that. As a lawyer, it was his job to give advice and recommendations, though he was always careful not to make decisions for his clients. He was to remain impartial and forthright, telling them the arguments for and against whatever plan was being proposed and allow them to make the final call. He had built a successful practice on working hard for his clients and giving them as much information as possible before carrying out their instructions. This allowed him to be as detached as possible, and ensure he wasn't improperly influencing his clients.

Some clients were more bearable to work for than others, though.

When Matthew Crawley became Earl of Grantham, Murray had mixed emotions. As the family's solicitor he had watched Robert grow up and had known the man for far longer than most of his clients. Still, while he mourned his passing, he was looking forward to working with Matthew. The Manchester lawyer was far more rational and reasonable than his predecessors. When Matthew showed him his plans for changing the business model of the estate, Murray was most pleased. When Matthew redistributed the investment portfolio, Murray was overjoyed. Here was a man who understood the long game, who appreciated the slow and steady progress that came with prudent decisions and careful planning. In the first two years of his reign, Matthew did nothing that Murray could take any issue with.

It was bound to end at some point.

"Gentlemen, this is what Lord Grantham requires of each of you," Murray nodded, taking a deep breath and passing out the papers to the other men gathered around the table. "Time is of the essence, so please make haste. His Lordship is currently in Spain and would like his business concluded prior to his departure. I do not need to tell you that he would prefer that it end in a successful result, and therefore I expect that you will all carry out your tasks with utmost expediency."

 _"A million pounds? That's a fair chunk."_

 _"This type of insurance policy is quite unusual."_

 _"Does Lord Grantham truly believe that these projections are realistic? I've not seen anything comparable in the last few years."_

 _"There will be customs charges to be paid and the government will want a piece of this, I expect."_

Murray pursed his lips and reached for his coffee. Before answering the numerous queries being thrown at him, he silently prayed that Matthew knew what he was doing. The last thing he wanted was to lose another client to bankruptcy.

 **Museo Nacional Del Prado, Madrid, Spain, April 1922**

Matthew could feel Mary watching him. Her face was expressionless, her hands delicately holding her purse on her lap as she sat rigid on the chair next to his. She was the picture of sophistication and elegance, but he knew she was nervous, though not nearly as nervous as he was.

The past few days had been tense. He had tried to explain to her that the Spanish way of doing business did not move nearly as quickly as back home. Having planned this out for weeks, he already had meetings scheduled with those in power both at the museum and the government, but he knew it would be a long negotiation. It was fortuitous that she was here with him. His original idea was to arrange for the exhibition even if she was still married to Carlisle. He would ask her to host, dare her husband to refuse her an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and see where things would lead. So much more was riding on the outcome of these talks now but he had to remain calm.

He knew she was worried and she had every right to be. This was a huge gamble. If they were rejected, he would move on to his next idea and the one after that. The premise was still sound – put on a performance that would lure the rich and powerful to Downton and Grantham House where Mary would host them with such skill that the stigma of her divorce would be ignored. There were singers that he had contacted, including Americans who had yet to make their European debuts. He had other options should the Prado turn him down.

This idea was the one he had invested in, however. Bringing _Las Meninas_ to England would be an epic coup. He imagined even the French would make the journey over to see it. The family name would spread even to those who weren't lucky enough to see the exhibition. Matthew Crawley, Lord Grantham, and Lady Mary Crawley – the couple who stunned the art world. Anyone who dared to bring up Mary's divorce or even the family secrets after that would be deemed a fool or jealous and their life together could begin unencumbered by the mistakes of the past.

"Mr Director, if I may be forthright," Matthew called.

The man across the table raised his head from the papers spread out before him and looked at Matthew from behind his glasses with a practised bored expression. The flunkies seated next to him leaned forward. There were translators, even though Matthew suspected the Director understood English perfectly well. The others were administrators here to calculate what ransom would be charged and what demands would be made. Some were probably recruited just to fill the seats so that their side looked far more intimidating.

"Yes, Lord Grantham?" the translator replied, though the Director had already nodded in acknowledgment.

"I've agreed to all of your terms," Matthew nodded. "I've put forward more than sufficient collateral to show both the seriousness of my offer and my respect for the museum and for this country. You've told me that a security staff and curators would need to accompany the painting. I've agreed to host them in my family home. You've mentioned that any revenues from the showings would need to be split with the museum. I am in agreement. I've made arrangements on my side with my government and numerous museums and galleries who are most interested to see the exhibition for themselves. I should think that my offer is most compelling."

The Director smiled before replying in Spanish.

"Lord Grantham," the translator smiled. "You must understand how outrageous your request is. You are not the first person or country to enquire as to the loan of _Las Meninas_. They have all been rejected conclusively without any consideration. The painting is truly priceless. Surely you understand our reluctance? What if we came to London and asked to loan _The Lady of Shalott_ or _Ophelia_? There would be great reluctance in letting such treasures leave your shores."

Matthew smirked. "There would be careful consideration paid, yes, but we English do not shy away from the rest of the world. We tend to be quite open to sharing with others."

The Director pursed his lips at Matthew's answer even before the translator explained it to him in his native tongue.

"Take the War for example," Mary chimed in, drawing everyone's attention. "Spain remained neutral during the conflict, didn't you?"

The Director nodded slowly.

Mary smiled. "I don't know nearly enough about your domestic affairs to opine on the government's decision. I imagine it was difficult for you here being closed off from the rest of Europe. Now that the fighting is done and the Allies have emerged victorious, it's time that Spain rejoined the rest of the Continent, isn't it? We've had such strong bonds in the past. This exhibition would help to reaffirm that friendship."

The Director stared at Mary thoughtfully.

"Well, you have Lord Grantham's terms," she nodded, rising from her chair to everyone's surprise. "We're staying at the Palace Hotel through to the end of the month. There's so much of your lovely city that I want to see. Good day, gentlemen."

Matthew stood up, his pulse pounding at Mary's intervention. He nodded to the men across the table and followed her out of the room. When they reached the hallway, her grip on his arm was unusually tight.

"Where would you like to go?" he asked when they came outside into the sunshine.

"Back to the hotel. I'm quite tired," she mumbled.

He nodded and brought her down the steps to the waiting car. When they were seated in the back, she leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder, her gloved hand holding on to his.

"You all right?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"Mmm," she nodded. "The negotiation had become an exploitation. You've been more than fair. There's no need for us to go beyond what we've already put forward. It's a unique piece, yes, but the museum needs money. The economy here has suffered ever since they decided not to enter the War."

"Probably best that they didn't. There was support for them siding with Germany from what I understand," he mumbled.

"I heard that as well," she agreed. "Let's hope that the Director was more pro-Allies."

He squeezed her hand. "Indeed."

She took a long breath. "Thank you for this. Thank you so much. It's such an enormous effort to go to just to rescue my reputation. Regardless of their answer, I appreciate all that you've done, darling, truly."

He smiled. "I'm not doing it only for you, you know. You're on my team now. We Crawleys stick together."

She laughed and raised her head. Arching her eyebrow at him playfully, she kissed him, her lips caressing his for a long moment before she settled back against him for the short drive to their hotel.


	14. Chapter 14

**Previously:**

 **Museo Nacional Del Prado, Madrid, Spain, April 1922**

He nodded and brought her down the steps to the waiting car. When they were seated in the back, she leaned on him, resting her head on his shoulder, her gloved hand holding on to his.

"You all right?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"Mmm," she nodded. "The negotiation had become an exploitation. You've been more than fair. There's no need for us to go beyond what we've already put forward. It's a unique piece, yes, but the museum needs money. The economy here has suffered ever since they decided not to enter the War."

"Probably best that they didn't. There was support for them siding with Germany from what I understand," he mumbled.

"I heard that as well," she agreed. "Let's hope that the Director was more pro-Allies."

He squeezed her hand. "Indeed."

She took a long breath. "Thank you for this. Thank you so much. It's such an enormous effort to go to just to rescue my reputation. Regardless of their answer, I appreciate all that you've done, darling, truly."

He smiled. "I'm not doing it only for you, you know. You're on my team now. We Crawleys stick together."

She laughed and raised her head. Arching her eyebrow at him playfully, she kissed him, her lips caressing his for a long moment before she settled back against him for the short drive to their hotel.

 **Chapter 14:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, May 1922**

"My Lord."

"Yes, Carson?" Matthew replied, not turning to look at the butler. His eyes remained on the blank wall before him. "What is it?"

"Mrs Hughes advises me that Mrs Levinson's rooms in the reopened East Wing are ready for inspection, my Lord," Carson announced.

"Lady Grantham can see to them," Matthew replied quietly. "Her mother's visit is over a month away. She'll tell me if anything is amiss, I'm sure."

"As you wish, my Lord," Carson bowed.

"Carson," Matthew called, tearing his eyes from the wall to look over at the butler before he took his leave.

"Yes, my Lord?" Carson asked.

"The work in this room was very well done. Thank you for attending to it in my absence," Matthew stated.

Carson nodded. "Of course, my Lord. Her Ladyship was more involved than I, however."

"Funny, that isn't what she told me," Matthew noted before looking back at the wall.

Carson blinked in surprise.

"Please ensure that I am not disturbed for the rest of the afternoon," Matthew finished.

"Yes, my Lord," Carson acknowledged his instruction and left.

Matthew frowned, anger and resentment boiling inside of him as he looked over the empty space. He chose this wall of the small salon to exhibit _Las Meninas_ because of several factors. Unlike the rest of the walls of the room, it was mainly featureless, with just two large pillars framing the centre. With no hearth or light sconces to clutter the view, and no windows nearby to cast unwelcome sunlight, it was perfectly suited to show off the painting in all of its glory. Beyond that, with the short hallway to the Great Hall and the glass doors leading to the outside, there was an easy route already available to send guests through. He wanted to be able to give people a glimpse of Velázquez's masterpiece, but not let them linger for too long. That would enhance the mystery and exclusivity of the exhibition while letting Mary reap the reward of hosting it. People would get a sample and come begging for more, and it wouldn't matter that the Lady of the House was recently divorced.

All he needed now was the painting in question.

He pursed his lips and shook his head before he marched over to stare out the large windows. The weather had turned warm, though not nearly as balmy as it had been in Madrid last month. Since their return, he had resumed his work schedule, heading into the office regularly. Despite spending a month together in Spain, he and Mary felt they ought to be careful and not push their luck. While Cora was supportive, she still held fast to the old traditions, and having her still-married daughter sleeping with another man was unheard of, even if that other man was the Earl of Grantham.

Not that they were entirely deterred. They had learned how to sneak into each other's bedrooms during Mary's stay in October, and those lessons were put to good use now.

Even the thought of Mary failed to calm him completely at this moment. The four weeks away were glorious. They sampled food they had never tried before, visited the wondrous places the Spanish capital had to offer – the Royal Palace, the Plaza Mayor, the Palacio Cristal, even the Santiago Bernabeu football stadium. They discovered small little tapas bars with vibrant crowds, towering cathedrals centuries old, and shops and fashion boutiques that had Mary's head spinning. They made love shamelessly, revelling in the freedom to do so, the anonymity of being in a foreign land spurring them on.

Yet the entire trip felt incomplete to him now, his mission left unfulfilled.

After their meeting at the Prado, they received a letter from the Director stating that the museum was reviewing their request. They left Spain weeks later without any further word. Whether it was out of stubborn pride or crushing disappointment Matthew didn't know, but he didn't call upon the museum again before boarding the train back to France, leaving behind only their address here in Yorkshire.

Now here he was, Lord Grantham returned back to his country seat, empty-handed.

There were other paintings he could loan. There were opera singers he could hire to perform concerts in this very room. He could pay to bring over the best chefs from Paris to create delectable treats that would have Society telling tales of how Matthew Crawley served ambrosia at his Season parties.

But _Las Meninas_ was the Holy Grail, an object so legendary that no one would even believe that he had brought it here. The painting was over 250 years old and had never left Madrid. The _Mona Lisa_ was more famous, but it was tiny in size by comparison, and more importantly, many Londoners had been to the Louvre to see it. Short of carving out a piece of the Sistine Chapel ceiling and transporting it to England, there was little he could do that would be more acclaimed than securing _Las Meninas_.

And here he was without it. He imagined the Director and his staff laughing at the foolish Englishman and his outrageous demand. It wasn't as if he cared what they thought, but to fail at his objective gutted him.

"I would ask if you're brooding or hiding, but since this is your house, hiding would seem to be unnecessary, so I'm going to venture that you're brooding."

He closed his eyes briefly before turning around. "I told Carson that I wasn't to be disturbed."

"He carried out your orders to the letter," Mary replied, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. "He also knew that I would not be so easily waylaid."

"He probably offered only token resistance, since we both know where his true loyalty lies," he grumbled.

"Now, now, be kind. He's blameless," she smiled, coming to his side and taking his arm. "Why are you in here brooding in the middle of the afternoon?"

"I'm not brooding," he scowled.

She arched her eyebrow at him and smirked teasingly. "Very well, you're not brooding. Would pouting be more accurate?"

He huffed. "Just thinking, that's all."

"About what, pray?" she asked.

He sighed and looked over at the empty wall. "About the silly dreams of little boys who aren't boys anymore."

"Or so little," she drawled. "They haven't officially given you their decision, you know."

He scoffed. "Darling, you, of all people, ought to know that silence can be deafening as an answer."

"And you, my darling, of all people, need to have more faith in your ability to do the impossible," she countered with a smile.

"I don't feel as though my success rate is anything to boast about," he frowned.

"That's because you're cynical, only focusing on the negative," she remarked easily. "You've had great success in your plans. I'm here, aren't I?"

He looked at her for a moment before lightening his expression and giving her a tender kiss.

"There. Feel better, now?" she grinned, caressing his cheek.

"A little," he nodded. "I just can't shake the feeling that I've misled you, gotten your hopes up for naught. We went to Spain and came back with nothing."

"Nothing except for some quite wonderful memories," she corrected him. "That's worth more to me than having to pay a King's ransom to borrow a painting for a few months. You haven't misled me at all."

"I should be so lucky that you still feel the same in four months' time when your name goes from revered to infamous all because of me," he said heavily.

He released her and wandered back over to the empty wall, shaking his head in frustration.

She arched her eyebrow at the sight of him and crossed her arms over her chest.

"In four months' time I'll be free," she declared. "That will be cause for celebration, won't it?"

"Of course," he looked back at her and nodded. "Though the party may be short on guests."

She stepped towards him, eyeing him carefully. "Since when did you care for how many people attend your parties?"

"I don't care," he scoffed. "But I also do not pretend that it isn't important to you and your family that you have the respect that you deserve from Society. How happy will you be stuck here with nowhere to go?"

She frowned as she neared him, taking in his furrowed brow and tense shoulders. "You'll be here."

He laughed ruefully and nodded. "I suppose you'll have your mother and Carson for company."

She tilted her head slightly. This end of the room was shielded from the outside light and his face was masked in shadow.

"May I ask you something?" she called.

"Yes?" he replied distractedly, turning towards her.

"Is it still your intention to marry me when the decree becomes absolute?" she demanded.

"Of course. At the earliest opportunity," he answered immediately, frowning at her in confusion.

"Is that not what we've dreamed of for so long?" she questioned. "Finally being together after all that we've had to face?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Did you ever imagine that we would be hosting grand balls and be revered in Society as part of our life together?" she probed.

"Specifically? No," he shook his head. "I expected that would happen given who you are, given who we are."

She weighed his words, realization dawning upon her as she glanced at the empty wall and back at his perplexed face. "You're afraid. You're not disappointed that the Prado hasn't answered us. You're scared of what it all means."

"What?" he scoffed. "I'm not afraid."

"Yes, you are," she nodded. "You think that I'll only accept you because I have to. You think that without status and reputation, you have nothing else to offer me."

"That's ridiculous," he frowned.

"It is, yes, which is why it vexes you so that a part of you believes it," she noted. "You think I'll hate you for putting me into a life full of gossip and ridicule. You think you need grand gestures to keep me interested."

"I think more highly of you than that," he shook his head. "The fact is, though, that your standing in Society is quite high at the moment. I know you enjoy that and so you should."

"My standing in Society is arguably the highest of anyone who isn't a Royal," she agreed. "And I was absolutely miserable because I didn't have you."

His face fell. "Mary."

She stepped towards him and grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket. "I love you Matthew, only you. I don't love the Earl of Grantham or the honourable member of the House of Lords. I love you. If we had only your wits to live on, I'd gladly follow you there."

His eyes widened as his own words from long ago echoed in his ears. They were uttered in fear and fury back then, but they sound like music now coming from her mouth.

"My life at Haxby and in London was meaningless," she shook her head. "Do you understand? I had money and influence and was admired and feared in equal measure by friends and strangers alike. None of it meant anything because I couldn't be myself, couldn't ever smile or laugh or be fully happy. Something was always missing. Someone was missing."

He swallowed, staring at her in awe.

"Let the Prado keep their painting," she smirked, drawing him closer to her. "I've got all the beauty I need right here."

He smiled just before she kissed him firmly. His hands moved down her sides and around her hips, his fingers reaching teasingly towards her bottom.

"My darling," he whispered when she finally drew back. "I just hate the idea of anyone speaking ill of you."

She laughed and shook her head. "I think you'll have to accept it. Even once news of my divorce fades away, there will still be plenty of women cursing my name. I'm taking one of the most eligible bachelors off the market, aren't I?"

He chuckled and nodded. "I doubt that very many people will be bothered by that."

"You'd be surprised," she smirked. "You're quite adored and coveted, actually."

He blinked. "What?"

She grinned at his reaction. "I was asked about you at least a dozen times during every Season, women looking for some hint as to how to draw your interest."

His mouth fell open. "And what did you say?"

"Something about you being quite full of yourself and terrible at shooting," she shrugged. "It hardly deterred anyone, much to my annoyance."

He laughed. "I'm sorry that you had to endure that, my darling, though I suspect you are merely exaggerating to soothe my ego."

"Am I?" she arched her eyebrow. "This past Christmas was nearly unbearable. Imagining someone else in your arms after I knew what it felt like to be held by you was torture. I had to smile and listen to these witches rave about you, unable to say anything to dissuade them."

He cringed for her having to go through that and kissed her softly. "Oh, Mary."

"I'm perfectly capable of building my own life," she stated. "I won't need to rely upon you to entertain me or find things to fill my days. That's why my standing isn't important. Of course, I'll hate to be the target of horrid jokes and rumours, but I'll get to sleep with you each night and wake up with you each morning, and that's priceless, Matthew, truly."

He smiled. "Well, I don't know if we'll wake up together every morning. On those days that I go into the office early, you tend to just keep on sleeping."

She rolled her eyes. "Leave it to you to ruin a tender moment with technicalities."

He laughed and kissed her again.

"Now, I was going to go into the Village and visit with Anna, see how she's getting on," she advised. "Would you like to come along and have a pint with Bates, or do you have any more brooding to do?"

He nodded and swept his arm towards the door. "After you, my Lady."

She took his arm and headed for the Great Hall, pleased at seeing his mood lifted.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, June 1922**

Though she had come to this house every year since she was born, something about being here now filled Mary with glee. Being in London always lifted her spirits, the pulse and rhythm of the city so very different from Yorkshire, so much more in tune with her own, at least for the weeks that she spent here. Living in the capital for months at a time like Aunt Rosamund would become boring and overbearing eventually, she supposed, but the time she spent here was always exciting, even as Richard's wife. Now that this would be her last Season before she was free of him, she felt lightheaded and hopeful, even though her future remained murky.

She glided down the stairs and went through to the parlour, her steps clicking on the marble floor. Since arriving here days ago she had ventured out with Mama and Edith, playing the dutiful daughter and sister. It wasn't unheard of that she would go to parties without Richard, but just the same she kept close to her family. No one was rude enough to ask about the rumours of her troubled marriage, and it was easy enough to say that Richard was keeping busy, which she expected he was.

Matthew was arriving at the end of the week and though they could not be seen out together as she wished, having him under the same roof was welcome enough. The past month at Downton was healing for them, being able to walk the grounds together, even go riding or sit on their bench were small pleasures they thought they would never enjoy again. Spain had been a magical trip, even if he was still perturbed over not coming to an agreement over _Las Meninas_ , but Downton was their home, and being together there meant everything, a sign that there was a life for them going forward, that this wasn't just a brief dalliance before they would be separated once again.

A slight blush coloured her cheeks as she sat down on the sofa. She was grateful that Mama's room in the Family Wing was quite a distance from Matthew's in the Bachelor's. Making love to him knowing that she would never have to leave him again was arousing and invigorating. As usual, their moods were perfectly in tune when it came to intimacy. He lured her to the hunting lodge and ravished her for an entire afternoon. She interrupted one of their inspections of a vacant farm to pull him on to a conveniently placed straw pile in the barn. During a drive in the country he parked in a secluded grove and made her pleasure him with her mouth before he replied in kind. It was different from their recklessness in October. They weren't as hurried or as desperate now. Their need and hunger for each other still made them frantic, but there was no fear of losing these moments now. They could indulge every desire easily and freely. This was more a snapshot of what their life would be like once they were finally married.

"My Lady," Carson called, coming into the parlour.

"Yes, Carson?" she smiled, looking over at the butler. Mama had brought the servants with her from Downton to help manage the family party next week. Mary almost regretted coming down so early. Matthew was essentially alone in the big house over the past few days and had she stayed behind they would have gotten up to countless adventures. For the sake of the furniture and the questions it would have raised, it was more prudent that they remain apart for now, but she was tempted constantly to risk more and more to be with him.

"A courier is in the foyer, my Lady," Carson informed her. "He's waiting on your answer to whatever this is, it seems."

Mary frowned as Carson passed her an envelope. She brought it over to the desk by the window and sliced it open with a blade. Reading the message quickly, she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"One moment, Carson," she stated, opening the drawer and pulling out a card and envelope to prepare her reply.

The butler stood by while Lady Mary scribbled her answer with smooth and precise strokes. Eventually, she placed the card in the envelope and handed it over.

"Carson, could you please send Helen here to me after you've given this to the courier?" she asked.

"Yes, my Lady," Carson nodded, taking the envelope and departing.

She turned and rubbed her arms, suddenly feeling a chill sweep through the room, or perhaps she only felt it in her veins. Minutes passed while she wandered slowly about, staring at nothing in particular.

"My Lady? Mr Carson mentioned that you called for me," Helen stated, coming into the parlour and curtseying.

Mary turned around and nodded. Mrs Hughes hired the young woman while Mary and Matthew were in Spain. She had worked as a lady's maid in other houses, but never one as big as Downton, and never for a family as esteemed as the Crawleys. So far in the brief time the girl was assigned to her, Mary was satisfied with her work. She wasn't Anna, but then no one was, and if Mary had learned anything during her time living at Haxby, a quiet servant that she could trust was far more valuable than a more experienced maid who was more loyal to the Master of the House.

"Yes, Helen. I need you to go up and ready my blue suit and matching hat. The jacket likely needs to be ironed," Mary ordered.

"Yes, my Lady," Helen acknowledged. "Are you heading out?"

"I am, yes," Mary replied. "I'm going to see my husband."

"Yes, my Lady," Helen curtsied and left the room.

Mary turned back towards the window and pursed her lips, a frown crossing her brow. When she last saw Richard, it was on the night that he told her their marriage was over. He mentioned back then that he expected they would never see each other again, all of the communications passing between the lawyers. While she didn't quite believe him, receiving a summons from him now was surprising. She expected that she knew what he wished to discuss with her, and the sooner the better as far as she was concerned. The timing wasn't perfect, but it would do. She shuddered at what Matthew's reaction would be when she told him, but she couldn't think about that now. In three more months, she would no longer be Lady Mary Carlisle. Between now and then, she needed to do everything in her power to ensure she reached the finish.

 **Carlisle Manor, Belgravia, London, England, June 1922**

There were no pleasantries exchanged with the butler beyond the usual polite greetings. Mary didn't enquire as to how he was doing and received no similar platitudes in return. She never spoke to the staff beyond giving instructions when she ruled here. There was no need to change that now that she was just a guest.

With each footstep down the hallway, her pulse jumped. When Richard bought this house following their wedding, it was empty and unadorned. As with Haxby, his gift to her was to allow her to decorate their London home, so long as she didn't touch his study or smoking room. It was one of the few domains of her married life where she had complete control, allowed to buy whatever furniture, art and accessory she wanted. During her parties and events, she received numerous compliments over how elegant the house was, how her style was both refined and contemporary. This afternoon, however, the walls seemed cold to her, the placement of the furniture and the accents on the walls so predictable and bland. It wasn't that there was anything garishly wrong with the house, but it felt as though the place lacked spirit and character.

"Lady Mary, my Lord," the butler announced, standing aside and allowing Mary to enter into the sitting room.

"Mary," Richard nodded, waving to the butler to leave them and close the door.

"Richard," she replied.

They remain at a safe distance. He hasn't come over to give her a customary kiss on the cheek and she's done nothing to suggest such an approach would be welcome. They never held much affection for each other, if any at all, but they both were adherent to customs. She held his arm when they were out in public, smiled at him demurely and laughed at his jokes the way a wife should. He paid her compliments so others could hear, danced with her when it was expected and kept any liaisons he might have discrete and away from public view. They never pretended to be anything more than what they were – husband and wife with very different lives, but always presenting a united front to the world.

There's no need for any such collaboration in this private meeting.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he remarked, going over to the bar and pouring her a drink. "I expect you've been busy with the Season."

"It wasn't overly inconvenient," she replied, nodding in thanks as she accepted the drink. The tonic water was cool and refreshing, a hint of lemon masking the bite of the gin. "I was surprised to hear from you. What is this regarding?"

He smiled at her, pleased that she was cutting directly to the point. "It seems we both overlooked a rather important detail when we separated – the Season."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "I suppose I was too distracted trying to comprehend that you were ending our marriage to consider all of the logistics involved."

"Yes, well, the Season is now upon us. I expect you've heard the talk about us that's been whispered about town?" he tested her.

"Spread by you in no small fashion, I expect," she retorted. "There are always whispers, you know that."

"Indeed, however, it is important that word of our divorce does not spread until the decree becomes final in September. Between now and then, we must appear to be as happily married as always," he stated.

She smirked. "I'm not entirely sure that London is prepared to witness such a dazzling sight."

He frowned and scoffed. "I'm being serious, Mary."

"I can't possibly imagine how you can be," she noted, holding his hard stare with one of her own. "If you expect me to organize a party now, you're mad. It's far too late for that."

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all," he shook his head. "We need only be seen together so that anyone who might think that we are no longer a couple can be convinced that they are wrong."

She looked at him with disdain. "And what would that involve, pray? If you expect me to attend dinners on your arm, the answer is no. We would have to attend at least a dozen of them and I have no interest in doing so."

"May I remind you that you have far more to lose than I do?" he noted pointedly. "It will be bad enough for you when the divorce becomes public record. Spending the Season dodging gossip is hardly wise."

"There's been gossip about me since my debut, Richard," she shook her head. "As you so neatly put it, I'm already going to have a hard enough time come September. What are a few extra weeks of being the subject of rumours?"

"That sounds brave but if that all can be easily avoided, you would be a fool not to jump at the chance," he replied.

"How easy will it be, truly?" she questioned. "What do you have in mind?"

"We attend Royal Ascot and Wimbledon together," he explained. "Not only would it be in keeping with our past appearances, but the events themselves are high profile enough that no one would then wonder why we weren't together at any other function."

She frowned considering his idea. It was true that they did attend those events together before. Richard liked to be visible and his newspapers were always on-hand for interviews and photographs. The rumours had not bothered her since her arrival, but he did have a point. The Season was just getting under way. The last thing she needed was to be scrutinized. Two appearances with him was not much to ask if it meant she would be left in peace for the remainder of the summer. Besides, by going along with his plans she would be insulating herself from any attempt by him to control the story of their pending divorce until at least September.

"Royal Ascot and Wimbledon. One day of each and nothing more," she declared finally. "You're paying for my new outfits. We will sit together as normal and I shall have no obligation beyond that. I won't smile at you when I don't want to. I won't laugh at your jokes when they aren't at all funny. If you want conversation, talk to one of your cronies."

He smirked and raised his glass to her. "Agreed."

She sipped her gin and tonic, the drink light and fizzy on her tongue and smooth down her throat. It would be painful to spend time with him, but necessary given their circumstances. A jolt of adrenaline warmed her blood. She would use him to enhance her own profile prior to the divorce. After years of resignedly accepting her cruel fate, this was only fair.

"What will you tell Matthew?" he asked lightly.

She frowned at him. "Why should you think that I need to tell him anything?"

"I don't believe that you need to, however, the fact remains that you are all staying together here as a family. I imagine he will be most perturbed when he finds out we are spending time together," he shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

"It's none of your business what I discuss with him, or with anyone else," she stated tightly before taking another sip of her drink and setting the glass down. "I'm leaving. I will meet you here on the morning of the first day of Royal Ascot."

He nodded but did not move to escort her out. She didn't wait for him, walking briskly back to the foyer. The butler opened the door for her and bowed as she went past. She went down the steps and over the pavement to the waiting motor. Once inside, she took a deep breath and stared out the window pensively, her hands clasped tightly on her lap to stop them from shaking.

 **Grantham House, St. James Square, Belgravia, London, England, June 1922**

"I have news, or perhaps better put, I have a surprise to share," Matthew stated, taking a sip of wine while the servants cleared the dishes from the table and prepared to bring out dessert. He had arrived in London just this morning, but Cora had organized a dinner for him anyway. Edith and Sir Anthony came over from their home, and Cousin Violet and Mother had returned last week from Manchester. Lady Rosamund was at a party of some sort, but that didn't bother him. An easy family dinner at home was a welcome first night before the pace of the Season would sweep him up.

Mary glanced across the dining table at him, her eyebrow raised in question.

"That sounds ominous," Violet noted.

"Surprises can be good tidings, as well," Isobel chimed in.

"If they were, they would be called good tidings, not surprises," Violet scoffed. "Surprises generally involve that which we do not expect."

"Then Matthew's news must be good, for you always expect the worst," Isobel smirked.

"With good reason," Violet muttered.

"Well, Matthew? Is it good news or bad, then?" Edith asked.

"It's a pleasant surprise, yes," Matthew nodded. "I received our badges for Royal Ascot next week."

Mary's eyes widened.

"In addition to being invited to the Royal Enclosure, the Prince of Wales has asked that we sit with him for the first day in the Royal Box as his guests," Matthew continued.

"Goodness, that is a surprise," Cora exclaimed. "How did this come about?"

"We actually have mutual friends from our time in the Army, though he had a limited role, of course. So that is how we know each other, or at least, that's how we know of each other," Matthew explained. "I don't exactly understand why we've been invited specifically to sit with him. He and I share very little in common, both in terms of status and beliefs, but there you have it."

Mary lifted her eyebrows in amusement. Prince Edward was impetuous and spoiled, a notorious womanizer, and there was gossip about his severe disdain for people of colour and from other countries. A particularly harsh rumour was that King George predicted that the Prince would ruin himself within 12 months of inheriting the Crown. She couldn't possibly envision the man even knowing Matthew existed, let alone wanting to befriend him.

"Well?" Isobel looked at Violet pointedly.

The Dowager Countess rolled her eyes. "Fine. It is good news. I expect we're to fill in the numbers. The Prince must have a circle of friends and handlers who will be surrounding him."

Isobel smiled smugly.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to attend," Edith said, sharing a smile with her husband. "I wouldn't want to cause a scandal by having the baby during the races."

Sir Anthony chuckled and nodded. "We'll stay at our home. The doctor says it should be any day now."

"I'm sorry to say that I must politely decline also," Mary announced, watching Matthew nervously. "I'll be attending the first day, but Richard is hosting a group of his own."

Matthew frowned at her incredulously for a moment before blinking and composing himself.

"He's asked you to attend with him, has he?" Violet asked.

Mary nodded, swallowing when she saw Matthew's eyes flash with rage. "Yes, he has, for appearances."

"For appearances," Matthew repeated.

"Yes," Mary confirmed. "No need to feed the gossip about us that is being bandied about. Appearing together will quiet those rumours."

Matthew reached for his wine again. He looked away from Mary as he took a sip and did not return his gaze to her even after he placed his glass back down.

"That's likely for the best, I imagine," Isobel remarked, looking from her son to Mary and back again. "Or, prudent at the very least."

Matthew offered nothing to that.

Mary could easily guess at his thoughts on the comment.

"You ought to buy a new dress for the occasion, Mama," Edith advised, glancing briefly over at Mary. "It's one thing to be in the Enclosure, but the Royal Box is altogether different."

Cora nodded slowly. "That does make sense. Mary? What about you?"

Mary paused, hoping that Matthew would look at her so she could apologize with her eyes. When he didn't, she shook her head and turned to her mother. "I've already made arrangements, Mama. My new day dress and hat will be ready this week."

"Paid for by your husband, I expect?" Violet asked.

"Yes," Mary answered. She did not fail to notice a frown darkening Matthew's face at the mention that Richard had bought her a new ensemble for the day. She insisted that he do so as a punishment, to force him to spend money on this charade that he orchestrated. Now, though, she could see how Matthew may not consider it such a brilliant idea.

"Any other surprises, Matthew?" Violet smiled.

Matthew looked over at Violet. "No. I think that's more than enough shock for one evening."

His eyes glared at Mary for a moment before he went back to his dinner, leaving the rest of the family to gab about what he originally thought was an exciting development but now seemed worthless.

Mary sighed to herself and returned her attention to whatever Edith was talking about. There would be no getting through to Matthew in his current mood. Besides, with the family gathered all around, they couldn't truly talk openly. Everyone at the table was well aware of Mary's divorce, however, that wasn't proper dinner conversation so they pretended as though nothing was amiss, that she was still married, since she was, and that her attending Season events with Richard was entirely normal. She listened as her family went on about all that was planned for the next month. Though she added a comment here and there, her mind remained mainly on Matthew and surely how angry he must be. He added a remark or two as well over the strawberry cake, but he kept his eyes from her. She hoped they would have a chance to speak when they went through but when they all rose from the table, he announced he was retiring early due to his long day of travel. All she could do was mutter a polite good night and watch him leave.

* * *

"Fucking stupid idiot…" Matthew sneered, shaking his head as he paced around his bedroom. His mind was a mess ever since dinner. He had come up here in a huff, taken a shower, which did nothing to calm him, read an entire book that he already had forgotten and was now dressed in his pyjamas, unable to sit still.

Tonight was a harsh reminder of how much he detested the Season. Being in London was fine. He quite enjoyed the city, actually, and having a grand home in Belgravia and invitations to a litany of exclusive events was hardly anything to complain about. However, the entire purpose of the summer here for the aristocratic set was to see and be seen. There was no such thing as visiting with friends to enjoy their company, or watching the tennis for the appreciation of sport. It was all about fashion and connections, being photographed in the right setting and with the right people. He thought he would get used to it over the years, and if he was being honest, he had enjoyed plenty of wonderful moments at different events, gained entrance to places he never would have been allowed into before. There were still times where he felt like the outsider from Manchester. Times like tonight.

He cringed again, admonishing himself for his behaviour tonight. Hearing that Mary would be attending Royal Ascot with Carlisle had put him in a petulant snit for the rest of the evening. He was furious with her for agreeing to such a mad idea, frustrated that she hadn't even consulted with him before apparently agreeing to it, and enraged that she sprung it on him at the dinner table, of all places, with the family gathered around them.

The fire of his fury towards her was matched only by the cold disappointment he felt towards himself.

Mary was a brilliant woman. She was perfectly capable of making decisions for herself. They weren't married yet, and even if they were, this wasn't the Middle Ages. She did not need his permission or approval to do anything, and as much as he detested the thought, making it seem as though nothing was amiss in her marriage did have some merit. She didn't deserve his ire, or his neglect, and he had given her plenty of both, all because of his bruised ego.

Just one time he wanted to be the unreasonable one. Just one time he wanted to be the oafish man who demanded her obedience. Just one time he wanted to be put ahead of duty, obligation and tradition. Just one time he wanted to be the most important thing in her life.

That streak of selfishness only made him feel worse.

When he first arrived at Downton Abbey, he told Mother that he had to be himself, that he was no good to anyone if he couldn't be himself. That meant he wouldn't be intimidated or impressed by this new life that Robert had yanked him into, that he wouldn't subscribe to all of their ways, that he wouldn't become a toff.

In the early years, he resisted even the simplest of things all because he was more concerned about proving he wasn't one of them. Not letting Molesley dress him. Continuing to work at his job. Dismissing Mary and her sisters as possible brides without having ever met them. His reflex was always to oppose and object, which was so unlike him. He usually evaluated everything with a careful eye, but the fear of being made different clouded his judgement in those early days.

It was why he didn't absorb Robert's lessons particularly well.

It was why he didn't compete very hard at all with Pamuk and Evelyn for Mary's regard on that dark night.

It was why he ran off to War rather than stay one more moment under the same roof with the woman who had broken his heart.

A long sigh left his lips. He had improved in many respects since then. His plans to modernize the estate were constantly being evaluated and reviewed, and carried out at a careful pace. His changes to the big house were kept as hidden as possible, so as not to disturb the timeless grandeur of the place. When Mary was finally his wife, she would be his partner as well, working side-by-side with him. He would never treat her as some trophy and keep her shackled as others had.

Yet despite all of his promises, wasn't that exactly what he had tried to do tonight? He was angry with her because she had dared to make a decision for herself without seeking his consent. It wasn't as if he had to be worried about anything untoward happening during her time with Carlisle. Having to spend the day with the man was more of a punishment for her than a fun time at the races. Despite knowing all of this, he still threw a stupid tantrum.

He ran his hand through his hair, his eyes looking vacantly at the carpet. The proper thing to do would be to pretend that tonight never happened and just forget about the entire mess. There were plenty of events to keep them busy in the coming days and once Royal Ascot arrived, he would sit in the Royal Box with Cora, Violet and Mother and Mary would do what she needed to do and they would not bother speaking about it again. Discussing his feelings and sorting out his moods was hardly what a gentleman would do in this situation, let alone an Earl.

* * *

The knock on her door almost made Mary jump. She blinked in shock and stared for a moment before getting out of bed and padding over. The only people in the world who came to her bedroom so late at night were Sybil and Matthew. Since her sister was still in Ireland tending to a newborn, it was easy to guess who her visitor was. It wasn't as if she wasn't expecting Matthew to come to her during their stay here, but given his anger, she expected days of silence from him before anything was resolved.

"Who is it?" she whispered.

"It's me, obviously," Matthew snapped. "Who else would it be?"

She frowned at his answer, the tone bitter and sharp. She was in no mood for a scolding. Shaking her head, she opened the door just a crack and looked at him suspiciously.

"What are you doing here? You know that Mama is just down the hall," she demanded.

"This is my house, isn't it?" he retorted. "I'll do as I please."

She glared at him. His first answer had been petulant. His second was now arrogant. Neither was convincing her to allow him in.

He rolled his eyes and took a pause before trying again. "Mary, may I come in, please? I want to talk to you."

She considered his request for far longer than she usually did before finally opening the door and standing aside.

He came through and closed the door behind them. She immediately walked over to the bed, putting distance between them.

"Well? Talk, then," she challenged, crossing her arms over her front.

He didn't quite lose the scowl on his face but he took a breath before beginning. The walk over here along the dark hallway calmed him a bit, though his pique is still bubbling beneath the surface.

"About tonight," he said slowly. "You made me angry."

She scoffed, not even trying to hide her annoyance. "You made that perfectly clear, yes."

He shook his head. "It was tedious spending the past week at Downton without you there. I was very much looking forward to dinner tonight so that I could share my news, so that I could see you finally. I've missed you, Mary."

Her frown softened, but only a little. "I've missed you," she allowed. "We could have had a pleasant conversation if you hadn't gone sulking up to your room immediately after dinner."

His eyes narrowed. "I'm not like you. I have great difficulty in putting on the façade of enjoying myself when I am not."

She rolled her eyes. "No, you merely allow your moods to ruin the evening for all of us."

"I believe that the evening was ruined when you decided to share your plans with Carlisle during dinner," he snorted. "God, Mary, do you have any idea how disappointing it was to hear that you'll be spending time with him when you're supposed to be getting a divorce?"

"Disappointing?" she exclaimed. "I'm the one who must endure him for the day. I believe that I'll be suffering far more than you will be."

"The fact that you must suffer his company does not render my feelings meaningless," he growled. "It's not a competition as to who is worse off. I'll hardly be enjoying myself that day, I assure you."

She huffed and shook her head. "If you came here looking for an apology, you're wasting your time. Going to Royal Ascot with Richard makes sense for me. You've heard the rumours. He's already been here for months alone and speculation has been rampant. I must be seen with him to quiet the gossip until September."

"Whatever excuses you wish to invent, you're free to do so," he waved his hand. "I would have thought you would consult me before making such a decision, and use more tact in advising everyone else about it."

"Shall I take a poll of the neighbours as well?" she shot back. "You would have told me not to go with him."

"With good reason," he spat. "The decree depends on your marriage being considered broken, you know. If there are photos in the newspapers of you laughing merrily while clinging to his arm, what do you think a judge will assume about the state of your union?"

"Please. For the decree to be revoked we would need to be living together in the same household, which clearly we are not. There's nothing to say that a divorced couple cannot be polite to each other, even cordial," she noted. "You're spinning all of this to suit your purposes and make it seem as if my attending the races with Richard is far more dangerous than it is."

"And your attempts to pass this off as if it was nothing are appalling," he snarled. "What did you expect? That we would all congratulate you on your shrewd manoeuvring before continuing on with dessert?"

"That would have been preferable to watching you stew in your own bitterness," she grumbled. "So what, then? You're forbidding me to go with him?"

He laughed sarcastically. "Even if I did, would you even listen?"

She frowned and looked away. "Well, we aren't married yet."

"You may do whatever you please both now and after we are married," he stated. "You have a mind of your own. I don't begrudge you that. It's one of the reasons why I love you."

"Then what is it, Matthew?" she whinged. "I know that you detest Richard, but surely you must know that I have no affection for him either? I would never ask you to support this plan, but can you at least understand why I felt it necessary?"

"I do understand," he nodded. "I disagree vehemently with your reasons, but I do understand them."

"Well, how are we to get past this?" she asked in exasperation. "Are you angry that I just didn't ask you? Is this all about the fact that you didn't get a say?"

"No, that's not it," he objected. "I would have appreciated being informed, having the chance to discuss it with you rather than be relegated to hearing about it with everyone else, but that's not why I'm angry about it."

She shook her head and stared at him, waiting for him to continue.

He sighed and looked up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to her, the fire she saw earlier dimmed a few degrees.

"I know how Society works," he stated. "I'm not so naïve as to think that the rumours and gossip are entirely insignificant, or that they don't affect you. Still, Mary you put far too much power in the opinions of others. Going to Royal Ascot with Carlisle is a desperate play. Yes, it will silence some of the talk, but only until the next party that he attends without you or the Church Bazaar back at Downton that he won't be at. You're going to a significant effort for a possible benefit that is, in my view, meagre at best."

"So you would have me allow the talk to continue unabated?" she questioned.

"If your name is going to be thrown to the wind in September, what's a few additional months?" he asked. "Beyond this, though, I'm angry with you because you're letting your fear of what others might say cloud your judgement. There's absolutely no reason to do Carlisle any favours, and yet you're content to accept his invitation. Who's to say that it will stop with just the races?"

She closed her eyes and cringed. "Well, actually, we'll also be attending Wimbledon together."

He blinked, his mouth falling open. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "Well, it's as you said – one appearance would have limited use to us, so we agreed on two."

He threw his hands up in disbelief. "For God's sake, Mary!"

"It's only the two days, that's it," she promised, trying to calm him. "They're within a week of each other. By July we'll be back at Downton and all we'll need to do is wait."

"Until the next brilliant plan comes along, no doubt," he retorted.

"What would you have me do, then?" she demanded. "It's all so very easy and clear to you, isn't it? Just ignore all the rumours and talk, don't let it affect me. You say that as if I never considered the option before!"

"No one has the power to make us feel anything that we do not feel first for ourselves," he shot back. "You know as well as I do that there's always gossip about you. For years you never let it bother you. You even liked it sometimes. This is no different."

"It is different! Of course, it's different!" she raged. "This isn't some jealous debutante wishing she had my dress or a rejected suitor spreading stupid tales about me to soothe his own ego. All of Society will be looking down on me – Lady Mary Crawley, the woman who cheated on her husband and was thrown out of his House. How can I possibly not be affected by that?"

"You never wanted to be in his House to begin with!" he exclaimed, waving his arms rather comically but for his obvious anger. "What's more important to you? Impressing some strangers who you'll likely never meet, or breaking free of these stupid games and living your life the way that you want? Are you content to be a pawn yet again?"

"I would greatly enjoy seeing you try and be me for just one day," she seethed. "You're a man. You can't possibly relate."

"Maybe not," he nodded. "But if you saw yourself the way that I see you, you would understand not only my absolute confusion over this, but why you don't need to bother with what other people think."

She opened her mouth to reply but resisted and said nothing.

He watched her for a moment before running his hand over his face and shaking his head.

"You should go," she sniffed, looking down at the carpet. "It's late and you've had a long day. You need your rest."

He paused for a moment before nodding slowly. "Very well. We have a full day tomorrow so we ought to put today behind us and move on."

She nodded in agreement, her eyes still averted from his.

"Mary," he called.

She looked up at him reluctantly.

"You know my rule," he said pointedly.

She frowned for a moment before rolling her eyes. "We're both going to bed angry tonight. There's no changing that, I'm afraid."

He nodded. "Even still. Unless you don't want to."

She huffed before crossing over to him.

He met her part way and took her into his arms.

Her body was rigid and not nearly as welcoming as usual, but still she hugged him back and lifted her head to kiss him lightly.

"I love you, Mary," he declared.

"I love you too," she nodded, softening her expression just a touch so he knew she meant it. "Good night."

"Good night," he replied, kissing her again before letting her go and heading for the door.

She closed the door behind him and sighed on her way back to bed. Slumping beneath the blankets, she was still frowning when she closed her eyes and reached for slumber that would be a while in coming.

 **Royal Ascot, Ascot Racecourse, Ascot, Berkshire, England, June 1922**

Mary gazed out on to the course with a discerning eye. Her father had taught her as a child to watch the horses as they came out before each race. The winner would always stand out, he said, have a regal bearing, as though he didn't belong amongst the pretenders running against him. Papa had a rather horrible betting record at the races, but she liked the sound of his advice. Ever since then, she liked to watch the horses come out on parade before each race.

Truthfully, focusing on the horses also kept her occupied and away from Richard. They had arrived together as planned, her elegant dress decorated with floral prints to match the flowers adorning her wide hat. He wore a tall black hat to match his long coat and brandished a silver cane that was as unnecessary as it was ostentatious. As they walked the grounds towards the Royal Enclosure, heads turned at the sight of them. For a moment she felt the familiar thrill of being the centre of attention. There would be compliments on her dress, reminders of next week's parties that she was invited to and fresh entreaties to go to others. It didn't matter that Richard was with her. This was her world and she was the ruler. He was but an accessory.

Her pleasant mood lasted through the opening races. Richard spent most of the time chatting away with his business contacts and invited guests. She saw some of her friends about and visited with them long enough to give the impression that nothing was amiss in her marriage. Through the morning, her plan was succeeding.

In the afternoon, the trumpets sounded to announce the arrival of the Prince of Wales and the entire section stood by politely. The King usually came out at the weekend, which meant that today was entirely about his son. A horse-drawn carriage followed a procession in front of the grandstands before the Prince emerged and waved to the crowd on his way to the Royal Box.

"Look, there's Freda," Lady Cunard smiled, nodding towards a woman who was standing off to the side and following behind the Prince's entourage. "Come out for a day at the races with her man. How nice."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That's all just a rumour. She might not be his mistress."

"Just an invited guest showing up here without her husband," Lady Cunard smirked. "That sounds entirely innocent. Well, on the one hand I give her credit. Cuckolding her husband for the Prince of Wales is no small feat. On the other, she's a fool to think that the fickle Prince will favour her in the end. She's going to end up abandoned and cast aside once the next pretty thing catches his eye. I hope she's enjoying her time with him because it surely won't last."

Mary frowned at both the rude comments of her friend and the relentless glee that she seemed to take in chastising a woman she didn't even know over a sordid tale that may or may not be true. It was an age-old truism, it seemed, she thought morbidly. Even the hint of illicit sex was enough to set tongues wagging.

Turning to her left, she leaned over and touched Richard's arm to draw his attention.

"I'm going to go and place a bet," she announced.

He smiled and nodded. "Found a winner, have you?"

"I think so, yes," she replied.

"Don't be long," he said easily before going back to talk with his friends.

Mary rose from her seat and nodded towards Lady Cunard before slipping away and heading towards the betting windows. In the more exclusive Royal Enclosure, they did not have to compete with the general rabble outside, which made placing bets far more comfortable. She stepped to the window, made her bet and paid with Richard's money.

"Think you've hit on something good?"

She turned around and blinked. Seeing who it was, she put on a polite smile and nodded.

"Henry. Hello," she said guardedly.

"Mary," he replied, touching the brim of his hat. "You look radiant."

"Thank you," she acknowledged. She stepped away from the betting windows and he fell in stride with her.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked, trying to fill the silence.

"I am now," he smirked.

She looked away from his arrogant face, a smile crossing her lips that she knew he would misinterpret.

"What about you?" he asked.

"It's been a pleasant day, yes," she nodded.

"What are your plans for later? I believe there is a party at the Winthrops?" he suggested.

"There is," she confirmed. "Richard is going. I have other plans."

"Other plans that do not involve your husband?" he grinned. "That sounds intriguing."

She laughed and shook her head. "Behave yourself, Henry."

He chuckled and nodded. "Forgive me, Mary. It's just that the thought of you without your boring husband around is so very appealing."

"You've got a nerve," she noted. "He's just over there."

"And well out of earshot," he replied easily. "Look, Mary, I've heard the talk. Word is that you're headed for divorce."

She blinked. "Whoever told you that?"

"Never mind who told me. We both know that the two of you aren't well suited. A separation would do you good, with or without the Court's blessing," he continued.

"I have no idea what you are speaking of," she frowned.

"I believe that you do," he stated, unfazed at all. "Think back to the dinner party in October at Downton. Think of how much fun we had then, and all the other times we've spent together without him around. You can't tell me that your time with him is anywhere near as exciting, or else you would be lying."

"I can't answer that," she admitted.

He grinned devilishly. "Exactly. Now, whether it be official or not, getting away from him is in your interest, Mary. You need a man who knows you, who understands you."

She swallowed. "Society would destroy me. You know how women who leave their husbands are treated. They aren't even allowed in here."

He turned to face her, making her come to a halt before him. "With the right man by your side, Society wouldn't say a thing. That lot is entirely predictable. Give them something shiny and new to dazzle them and they will forgive anything."

She arched her eyebrow at him curiously. "Such as?"

"Two gorgeous people," he smirked playfully. "Glamourous and sophisticated, celebrities who can brighten up even the stuffiest of parties. People love winners, Mary. They want to bask in the glow that we give off. They want to get close, hoping that whatever it is we have that makes us better than them can rub off a little."

"And?" she probed.

"And so no one will care about your leaving your husband if you find yourself a winner to support you and lift you up," he explained. "A man who by his very presence makes you seem as unblemished as he is."

She looked at his smiling face for a moment before slowly nodding.

"You're right, Henry," she declared. "Richard doesn't make me happy. He doesn't excite me. I wonder if he ever did."

His eyes lit up and his white teeth shone through his wide smile. "Exactly."

"I need a better man," she nodded.

"You do," he agreed, his eyes devouring her body as they unapologetically moved down to the pale skin of her chest.

"Thank you for this," she smiled. "You've given me just the motivation I need."

"You are most welcome," he nodded eagerly.

"Goodbye, Henry," she said politely. "Enjoy the rest of the day, and best of luck."

He frowned in confusion. "What? Where are you going?"

"To find a better man, of course," she smirked, stepping past him. "One who knows me and understands me far better than Richard ever did, and who isn't nearly as insufferably full of himself as you are."

His mouth fell open as he watched her stroll away. "Mary!"

She turned around and arched her eyebrow as he came over to her.

"Are you mad? Do you understand what I'm offering you?" he hissed, staring at her incredulously.

She nodded. "The chance to be your pet. You don't want a woman, Henry. You most certainly do not want a partner. You want someone to fawn over you, to look pretty, to shine in your hold like those trophies you win at your races. I could never be that. You're quite nice to look at, yes, and I suppose some are impressed by what it is you do with your cars, but we're not well suited, not at all."

"You're not thinking properly. You said it yourself. You'll be an outcast if you leave your husband. I'm offering to save you from that. Who else can do that for you?" he sputtered.

She reached up and patted his cheek with her gloved hand. Leaning in closer, she smiled up at him, her voice ice. "That's the thing, though, Henry. I don't want a man to save me. I want a man who will support me while I save myself. More than that, however, I want a man who doesn't believe that I need to be saved."

He could not come up with a response in the seconds it took her to turn away and leave him.

* * *

"Wasn't that your horse, Matthew?" Violet asked, squinting as she looked out at the race course.

"Yes, it was," Matthew replied blandly.

"You won again? How many is that today?" Cora checked, looking at him curiously.

"Three or four, I believe," he answered. "I haven't really been keeping track."

Isobel and Violet shared a concerned look.

"My Lord. My Lord Grantham," an attendant called, coming over to their seats.

Matthew rose from his chair and turned towards the young man. "Yes?"

"For you, my Lord," the young man bowed respectfully, passing Matthew an envelope.

"Thank you," Matthew replied, frowning at the envelope in confusion.

"Were you expecting something?" Isobel asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm going to place a bet on the next race. I'll be back shortly."

He nodded to the ladies before leaving the Royal Box and heading for the betting windows. On his way, he opened the envelope and pulled out a small card.

 _'Brown's Hotel. 6 o'clock this evening. Do not make me wait.'_

He stared at the unsigned card in confusion. Brown's was a hotel in Mayfair, but who wanted to meet him there?

He stopped in his tracks as he turned the card over. A wide grin filled his face as he saw the familiar signature scrawled on the back. Putting the card back in the envelope, he stashed it in his inside coat pocket and made his way to the betting windows with a much livelier step.


	15. Chapter 15

**Previously:**

 **Royal Ascot, Ascot Racecourse, Ascot, Berkshire, England, June 1922**

"My Lord. My Lord Grantham," an attendant called, coming over to their seats.

Matthew rose from his chair and turned towards the young man. "Yes?"

"For you, my Lord," the young man bowed respectfully, passing Matthew an envelope.

"Thank you," Matthew replied, frowning at the envelope in confusion.

"Were you expecting something?" Isobel asked.

"No," he shook his head. "I'm going to place a bet on the next race. I'll be back shortly."

He nodded to the ladies before leaving the Royal Box and heading for the betting windows. On his way, he opened the envelope and pulled out a small card.

' _Brown's Hotel. 6 o'clock this evening. Do not make me wait.'_

He stared at the unsigned card in confusion. Brown's was a hotel in Mayfair, but who wanted to meet him there?

He stopped in his tracks as he turned the card over. A wide grin filled his face as he saw the familiar signature scrawled on the back. Putting the card back in the envelope, he stashed it in his inside coat pocket and made his way to the betting windows with a much livelier step.

 **Chapter 15:**

 **Brown's Hotel, Mayfair, London, England, June 1922**

Mary wandered around the hotel suite nervously, her heartbeat fluttering far more haphazardly than she wanted. She had already finished two glasses of champagne and some chocolate, which was probably not the smartest thing to do in hindsight. Bubbly alcohol and rich sugar were never going to calm her down.

She took a deep breath and rubbed her hands together. The champagne was chilling on ice, the bowl of strawberries sat neatly on the coffee table and the candles were lit and would last for hours yet. Vanilla and lavender wafted through the air and it was quite warm in the room, which was fortunate since she was wearing practically nothing. Her lacy chiffon nightgown stopped just past her knees, and the thin straps left her shoulders and arms uncovered. She had found the scandalous lingerie in Spain and brought it with her to London without knowing if she would have either the opportunity or the courage to wear it for Matthew. When she sent him the note to meet her here tonight, it was the first thing she thought of to retrieve from Grantham House. Desperate times, and all that…

She stopped before the mirror and looked at herself again, a flush colouring her cheeks and chest at how brazen she was being. Luring him here was hardly something to be embarrassed about. It wasn't as if she wouldn't be making love to him at some point this week anyway, even though they hadn't been together once since he arrived in the city. A liaison with her lover in a hotel while she was still technically a married woman was nothing shocking at this point either, given all they had gotten up to in Madrid. It was more their recent circumstances that made her gambit seem dangerous. There was still an uneasiness between them, a tension that tightened the closer the day of Royal Ascot approached. They agreed not to discuss it further, their argument left unresolved. Despite that, and despite the numerous dinners and visits they had taken as a family the past few days, the distance between them remained, and she didn't realize how much she hated it until today.

She had no fears that he wouldn't show up. Some time alone together was just what they needed and she knew he would agree. Still, the champagne, strawberries, candles and her lack of clothing made it explicitly obvious what she wanted, and though he would surely be aroused by it, he might see it as her trying to sweep aside his complaints with sex, which wasn't what she intended at all.

They probably did need to talk, truly talk, about Richard and the next few months, about what would happen in September when she would be officially divorced and all that would follow. Going to Spain and now being in London for the Season helped put those discussions off for a bit, but there were mere months left now and more reminders of their situation were appearing each day.

It wasn't all sombre and disheartening. She would get to plan her wedding to Matthew, an honour she thought she had given up years ago. Downton Abbey would truly be her home, forever and always. As Matthew's wife and Countess of Grantham, any question about her true lineage would become irrelevant and left in the past where it belonged. Mere months ago, she thought she would waste her life away in Haxby and now she was on the verge of the kind of sappy happiness that one only read about in fairytales and romance novels.

They needed to talk, but she missed him desperately.

Spain was both a tonic and a drug, soothing the months of separation since their magical October but also feeding her addiction for him. When she stayed with him at Downton, there was always an expiry date on their fantasy. Four weeks and she would leave, no matter how much she wished she could stay. It gave her a reckless freedom she never felt before, but also a deadline for when it was time to go back to her real life. Loving Matthew for that month was perfect in its short beautiful time. She would never forget it, but she was able to steel herself before going back to Haxby since she knew it was destined to end.

In Madrid, everything was permitted. It wasn't just being able to make love to him anytime she wanted to, which she did frequently. It was being with him, talking, taking meals together, sharing a life together, this time without an end date looming in the distance. She fell deeper in love with him each day, if that was even possible, the knowledge that she would not be taken from him again making her deliriously ecstatic and rendering even the most mundane moments vivid with colour. When they returned to England, they had to be more discrete so as not to shock Mama and the rest of the family, but still they never spent an evening apart until she went to London and he stayed behind. Being without him had not bothered her too much until their fight last week made his absence from her bed all the more devastating. When Henry flirted with her at Royal Ascot this afternoon, it was as if all the longing she'd held inside for Matthew was let loose. She had her reasons for being seen with Richard, valid reasons that she still believed in. But why was she putting up with Henry's despicable proposition when the man she loved more than any other was alone in the Royal Box probably wallowing from being without her? She resolved then and there to dismiss Henry conclusively and arrange this meeting with Matthew. The rest of the afternoon passed easily enough. She remained next to Richard and played her role. None of her bets came in, but she didn't mind since it was his money lost anyway. When the event ended, she walked out with him and was away to Grantham House, quickly going over all she needed to make this evening special.

Looking at her reflection now, she frowned slightly. As badly as she wanted Matthew, this was far too explicit. She didn't call him here just to take her pleasure from his body. The sensation of being together, just being in his arms, feeling his love; that was what was most important. Was she cheapening that by thinking only of their passion, believing that lying together would appease him?

She shuddered slightly. Mama's voice rang in her ears, warning her about lust and fallen women. Rolling her eyes, she lifted her chin and steeled her gaze. Lust didn't go to the effort that she had to set up this private evening for them. Love did.

Shaking her head, she turned and headed for the bedroom and walked through to her closet. On her way to change, she grabbed her glass of champagne and downed some more liquid courage.

* * *

"Fierce. Relentless. Ravenous," Matthew muttered, walking briskly up the stairs. The lift was taking too long for his liking so he took the stairs up to the suite that Mary had arranged for them instead. He wrenched the door open when he reached the top floor and continued on down the hall, muttering to himself all the while.

"You're fierce. You're a monster," he mumbled. "No talking. No babbling. No rambling. Just fierce. Relentless. Ravenous."

Even though Mother, Cora and Violet didn't question him when he announced he was heading out for the evening, he still moved as fast as politely possible to get out of the house. For once, he was glad for the tendency of aristocrats to leave everything unspoken. They would assume that he was going out to some function and that Mary was at a dinner with Carlisle, or that was what they would claim to believe, anyway, and that suited him well enough. He was too frantic to get to her to worry about what others thought.

The hotel rooms passed by on his way to the end of the hall. There would be no talking, at least, not about Carlisle and Society, about duty and appearances. There would be no arguing, at least, not about what was right or proper. With every step he drew nearer to her, waiting for him in their suite, and he would not waste this chance, or waste their time with words.

Ever since he received Mary's note he had spent time thinking about their predicament. He was no closer to a solution, a compromise between her need to present the proper image of still being a married woman, and his disgust at her charades. That was the point, however. Some problems simply could not be solved, some compromises were simply a step too far, and he decided that it was acceptable to allow that. Their life together would be filled with arguments and debates where no one would emerge the winner. They were stubborn, so very stubborn. They were smart enough to question anything, but not quite wise enough to know not to question everything. She had made a decision and he had disagreed with it, and that was that. He had to understand that there were more important things than trying to prove himself right. In particular, he couldn't spend the rest of his life trying to convince his wife when she was in the wrong.

His wife. He smiled at the thought. She was wearing his ring, wasn't she? They had promised each other they would marry as soon as they could, and the ceremony seemed a mere formality now, not only because of the way they were behaving since she moved out of Haxby, but because of the way they felt. She was not merely his friend, confidant, partner and lover. She was already his wife in both his heart and mind.

And he needed her so very much.

As eloquent and learned as Mary was, she wasn't one to use words to express her feelings. If she wanted to talk to him, they could do that at Grantham House, or anywhere. She didn't need a hotel suite so that they could have a chat. While he did not pretend to have any skill at understanding women, he was fairly confident that Mary had summoned him here for a specific purpose – so that they could find their way back to each other and put everything else aside.

It was a brilliant idea and he had a role to play in seeing it through.

"Fierce. Relentless. Ravenous," he growled, the door to the suite coming into view.

After all she had suffered at the hands of Pamuk and Carlisle, the last thing he wanted to do was make demands of her. She deserved proper consideration and respect, even when they were intimate with each other, especially then. Her unexpected offer had his imagination spinning, however, dark thoughts swirled within him. Maybe she was trying to tell him that the time for talk was over. Maybe she was trying to tell him that they needed to focus on what was important, on the two of them as a couple, to set aside their disagreement and celebrate that they would soon be man and wife for the rest of their lives.

Maybe it was time for more action.

Mary was the only woman he had ever been with in a truly meaningful way, his first time as a teenager a forgettable blip long in the past compared to the nights of passion he had with her. She seemed to enjoy it when he was particularly assertive, maybe because it was so unlike how he was normally, or maybe because she enjoyed the feeling of putting herself in his hands. Regardless of the explanation, he felt his blood rushing the closer he neared to the suite. Wasn't that what Marie Stopes wrote about? How the husband enjoyed the chase, the hunt for his wife as prey?

A sneer curled his lips as he reached his destination. Taking out the key, he unlocked the door and threw it open, stepped inside the room and closed it swiftly. His eyes shone brightly as he searched for his target, arousal clouding his mind and shoving all rational thought to the side in favour of primal need.

Fierce. Relentless. Ravenous.

"Hello, Matthew."

His eyes widened and he stopped mere steps into the sitting room. Candles were lit everywhere and he smelled vanilla and lavender. The scent was likely meant to be soothing, but they only enflamed him more when paired with the vision before him.

Mary was sitting on the sofa facing him, her bare legs folded beneath her. He took in the softness of her face, the pale stretch of her throat, the hint of her shoulder and chest revealed by the loose collar of her clothing. His eyes descended to take in the slight curve of her breasts beneath the fabric before returning to her dark eyes.

"Hello," he managed. "What are you wearing?"

She grinned, her fingers ghosting up her front, drawing his rapt attention. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows and it seemed she had done up just enough buttons to stay covered, but barely.

"This? It's one of your shirts," she smirked, loving the look of desire on his face. Men had stared at her covetously before. Henry was absolutely shameless that way. Matthew looked at her differently though, made her feel not only lusted for, but adored. His eyes were hungry for her, but held a reverence, as though he considered it a privilege to be able to gaze upon her. His stare wasn't obsessed with conquest but building something meaningful, something to last. She felt her body respond beneath the thin cotton of his shirt and a blush coloured her cheeks.

"I see that, yes," he nodded, coming closer. "It looks far better on you than it does on me, I'll admit."

She laughed and arched her eyebrow at him when he sat down next to her. He reached over and pulled her legs across his lap, his fingers massaging the smooth and soft skin. His eyes wandered up past her knees and over her thighs. It didn't seem as if the shirt was long enough to hide her knickers, if she was actually wearing any. His mind whirled at the possibility.

"I'm pleased that you accepted my invitation," she noted, smiling at his flushed face.

He tore his gaze away from her body and looked at her playful eyes. "I was most pleased to receive it."

"Well, I was inspired," she replied warmly. "I wanted us to have some time alone together without anyone else to interrupt. We were so free in Spain, so isolated. Now that we're back I feel as if we haven't had time to truly talk, just the two of us."

"What is there to talk about?" he asked carefully.

She swallowed and looked down for a moment. "I've missed you, my darling. I should have told you that the first night you arrived instead of…well, the other thing."

He nodded. "I know you've missed me. I've missed you, too. I should hope that was obvious enough."

She arched her eyebrow and rubbed her leg against him. "It was, yes. You make it quite clear in many ways."

He chuckled at that.

"I know these past weeks have been difficult for you. They've been difficult for me, too," she continued. "It may seem as if I'm in my element here, going to parties and hosting friends for tea, but I can't help but fear that this may be the last Season I am granted to enjoy such privileges. Even going to Royal Ascot today. They don't allow divorced women into the Royal Enclosure, you know."

He nodded solemnly and massaged her legs.

"You mentioned the other night that it wasn't a competition between us as to who is worse off in all of this. I know that you're right. Even though it's my name that will be sullied and me that will be shunned by Society and whispered about, you'll be affected, too. You won't be tainted as I will be, but I know you'll hurt all the same, just because you will hate to see me mistreated."

"Precisely," he agreed.

"I don't have any suggestions on how we can avoid all of it, but I do appreciate that you're on my side. It's very much as I told you once before. My life makes me angry, not you," she said softly.

He took a deep breath before taking her hand and kissing it, his eyes locked on hers, relief washing over him. It was this simple, wasn't it? They could argue and row and quarrel and it all mattered, but it needn't change what was truly important. He believed her when she told him she loved him even when they were still angry from their fight last week. He believed her now when she told him that she missed him even though she just came from attending one of the highlight events of the Season with Carlisle. Sometimes it was nice to hear the words, especially when she was so reluctant by nature to speak them, but he still knew her heart without her having to say anything.

"We'll get through it together, regardless of what may come," he promised, squeezing her hand before releasing it. "We haven't survived all these years and returned to each other again just to be tripped up at this final hurdle."

She smiled and nodded, resting her head on the top of the sofa and watching as he continued to rub his fingers skilfully across her calves.

"This is quite…cosy," he remarked, glancing around the room. "Champagne, strawberries and candles. One might think you brought me here to seduce me, Lady Mary."

She grinned. "Well, regardless of my intentions, it appears to me that you are open to the idea."

"It does sound enticing," he smirked, leaning over and kissing her lips. "I never thought that a woman would go to such an effort just for me."

"You should have more faith," she breathed, kissing him again. "You are worth every effort."

He smiled against her lips, his hand moving up her leg to slide along her thigh.

"Shall I pour you some champagne, my Lord?" she asked lightly.

He growled in response, pulling back slightly to stare at her with a look that made her breath catch.

"No," he said thickly. "You will be still, my Lady."

She watched as he rose from the sofa to stand before her. Looking up at him, her pulse jumped at his confident smirk, his blue eyes at their most hypnotizing and gorgeous. She swallowed when he remove his jacket and tossed it aside. Her arousal grew when his fingers smoothly undid his tie and worked on the buttons of his shirt. How had the balance shifted so quickly between them? How was he now captivating her? She didn't think, couldn't think. She just kept watching.

"We have much to talk about, you know," he nodded, his fingers releasing the final button and pulling his shirt free.

She nodded, her throat feeling suddenly dry. "We do."

"Communication is vital for any successful union," he continued, undoing his cuff links and sliding his shirt off. "I won't have a marriage where we think one thing and say another."

She shook her head slowly, her core warming rapidly taking in his bare chest and arms. "I agree."

Her eyes roamed all over him, taking in the beauty that stood before her. This was all hers. He was all hers. In the early years when she fell in love with him, she knew nothing of his physique or how he looked undressed. His handsome face and solid frame already made him attractive to her. Discovering him fully back in October and again these past months was thrilling, like finding out a delectable treat she always enjoyed had somehow become even more scrumptious and sweet with time.

"I had plans for you, you know," he declared, slowly undoing the belt of his trousers. "I was going to throw you against the wall and strip you naked, show you who your master is."

She arched her eyebrow, his bold words so unlike him but not entirely unwelcome.

"And so?" she challenged, her voice not nearly as firm as she would have liked. "Why haven't you?"

He smiled, popping one button of his trousers and another after that. "I'm not here to grope you and I'm not a savage. Rather than bend you to my will, I think it far more satisfying to make you crave it willingly."

She breathed out harshly as his trousers fell down his legs, his perfectly sculpted legs. Somehow she believed that runners and cyclists would have scrawny legs, but he most certainly did not.

His hand moved down to grasp himself through his shorts, and her eyes widened at the sight of him swelling. She licked her lips despite herself, her eyes trying to move back up to his face but failing after mere seconds.

"Your turn, Mary," he announced, making her pulse jump yet again. "Undo my shirt."

It was as though there were invisible marionette strings between them that lifted her hands and moved her fingers to comply. She tried to go slowly, tried to draw out the anticipation for him as he had done to her, but part of her wanted to be free of his shirt, to be naked before him. She kept her eyes on his as the length of her chest and stomach were revealed to him, a teasing smile lighting her face when she noticed his hand moving faster.

When the last button came apart she held the sides of the shirt closed over her breasts. Shifting her hips to sit up straight, her gaze never wavered, though his eyes darted down. He only glanced for a second before grinning back up at her.

She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

She opened her mouth to speak but stopped when his hands pulled at his shorts and dropped them to the floor. He raised his chin slightly in a very good imitation of one of her own haughty expressions and stepped forward. He looked so very smug, and he had every right to be. His hand moved down once more and her eyes followed. She had been raised to never stare at a man in any way. Sex was only for pleasing one's husband and making babies, and was preferably done only in the dark. Kemal and Richard both kept the lights on, wanting to watch her most likely, though she kept her eyes squeezed shut with them. With Matthew she stared, and ogled, and devoured.

That was all hers.

"Bedroom," he ordered, nodding his head towards the doorway. "Bring the champagne."

She watched him walk past her completely naked, the sight of his tight arse the final serving in the decadent feast he had shown her. Left alone in the sitting room, she stared down the hall for another moment before rising from the sofa. She tried to move as slowly as possible, but her heartbeat wouldn't allow her to linger. The brisk rhythm seemed to give speed to her feet, carrying her to the ice bucket to fetch the bottle of champagne before following in his footsteps.

When she arrived at the bedroom he was already lying down, an arrogant smirk on his face, his hand idly stroking himself as if he was merely biding his time before her expected arrival. She arched her eyebrow at him and approached, trying to appear composed, though the colour in her cheeks betrayed her.

He looked her up and down, a bolt of desire firing through him as she neared. It was exciting to pretend to be in charge, to be the one giving the orders, but truly he was a mess inside. He ached for her, for her touch, to see and feel her body against his, to hear her moans and know it was he who caused them. Other men wanted her for different reasons, whether it be to assert superiority or fire their own egos. He needed Mary to breathe, to exist. The years without her going back to that bright summer day when his stupid pride had almost cost him the love of his life had been a battle – both literally and figuratively. So many times he had yelled in anguish to the darkness of an empty house, sometimes even cursing that he had somehow lived through the War only to have to live without her. He had thrown himself into reviving and renewing Downton as a means of staying close to her, if only in thought and spirit. Outsiders would marvel at the grand English estate, steadfast and prosperous, while he and he alone would know its true symbolism – as a legacy to a love that never died.

And now here she was, removing his shirt and crawling on to the bed like a tigress closing in on her quarry.

"You seem most pleased, my Lord," she drawled, leaning down to kiss chest.

"I am, my love," he replied, making her blush. "I've never been happier in all my life."

She grinned and kissed him softly. "Didn't anyone tell you? An Englishman isn't supposed to be so effusive in his praise."

"Some say that an Englishman isn't supposed to love his wife, either," he retorted, kissing her back. "Would you like me to conform?"

"Never," she answered, sliding her tongue into his mouth.

His hand moved up to caress her bottom as she bent over him, the heat from their bodies warming the air around them. She nipped at his mouth before kissing her way down his front. Sitting up, she gave him a sultry look before pouring the champagne across his stomach.

"Oof!" he tensed and chuckled wickedly as the cold drink slid down his body. "You're going to pay for that."

"Am I?" she questioned, leaning over and licking the fragrant drink. "I should make this worthwhile, then."

He groaned, watching her go about the task of tasting wherever the champagne had fallen. Bent over him, she was just beyond his reach, and she swayed her hips back and forth, taunting him while her lips and tongue seared his skin.

Breathing raggedly, his eyes widened when she gracefully slipped between his legs and took hold of him. Smiling mischievously, she raised the champagne bottle and tipped it precariously.

"You wouldn't dare," he warned, desperately hoping that she would ignore him.

"Let's just see," she retorted before she poured the bubbly over her target.

"Mary," he snarled just before she lowered her head and took him in. The cold champagne and her hot mouth made him shut his eyes in rapture, leaving nothing but the intense sensation of the woman he loved pleasuring him in a way she had never done for anyone else. He revelled in the feel of her and the all that was to follow in their private haven.

* * *

"Mmm, you are the most amazing lover," Mary hummed, snuggling against Matthew and closing her eyes.

"You're just as incredible, maybe even more so," he replied, holding her close to his side. "You are what brings out the animal in me after all."

She laughed. "I've got the marks to prove it. My arse still stings, you know."

"I think you left a few marks of your own, my darling," he countered, kissing the top of her head.

"Mmm, perhaps," she smiled lazily. "Maybe if you weren't so big and didn't fuck me so well, I wouldn't have to hang on to you so frantically."

A silence filled the air before she blinked and looked up into his bemused face.

"That is, I…erm…" she stammered.

He grinned and they both fell apart, bursting out laughing before she slapped his chest and managed to calm herself enough to speak.

"God, I'm drunk," she groaned. "I must be to speak such nonsense."

"So I'm not big and I don't fuck you well, then?" he joked.

She scoffed and hugged him tight. "You're the biggest I've ever had and you fuck me like a god, but I will deny having said every word once I'm sober."

He laughed and kissed her forehead. "That's good enough for me. You'll be drunk for hours yet."

She huffed. "And you will take full advantage, won't you? What do you have planned? Taking me against the window so all of Mayfair can witness your conquest?"

"Never," he shook his head. "You know very well that I have no interest in conquering you, nor do I like to share you with others."

She kissed his shoulder. "But you have conquered me. You've turned the cold and careful Lady Mary Crawley into a wanton woman."

"You were always passionate, even when scolding me over something I said," he chuckled.

"Probably because you deserved it," she stated pointedly. "What you said earlier, though, about throwing me against the wall and having your way? I might enjoy that."

"I'll keep that in mind," he replied.

She lifted her head and kissed him softly, running her fingers over his cheek. "Darling, are you truly all right with me going to Wimbledon with Richard? I know you hate it, but I don't want you to think that I'm disregarding your feelings or your opinion."

"I do hate it," he nodded. "I hate you having anything to do with him. However, if you feel it is important and necessary, then so be it. I don't think I'll be attending this year. I didn't particularly enjoy myself today, I must say."

She nodded in understanding. "Well, how about you reserve this very hotel suite for that evening and I shall do my utmost to raise your spirits once I'm finished with the tennis?"

He grinned. "I don't think it's only my spirits that you'll get a rise out of, darling."

She rolled her eyes. "Heavens, who knew that quiet Matthew Crawley had such a lurid sense of humour?"

"Quiet does not imply naïvete or prudishness my darling," he countered. "Besides, if we cannot be ourselves with each other, then what chance do we have?"

She smiled and kissed him. For most of her life she had put on an act around everyone she knew, becoming the person that her family, friends, and eventually Richard wanted her to be. It was easy enough to be herself each day, but when it came to important decisions and life-altering events, she was often overruled and told what to do. Matthew wasn't like that and it made her both love him and fear that someone could trust her so completely.

"It's decided, then," she nodded, kissing his chest lightly and settling back down against him. "I'll attend Wimbledon for one day only and that will be the end of that so-called plan. We can discuss our own plans that very night."

"I look forward to it," he muttered, stroking her back. "I want no mention of his name between now and then, and never again after that. The sooner he is out of our lives, the better."

She nodded. "Speaking of unwelcome men, I saw Henry today."

He rolled his eyes, his arms tightening around her. "I would ask what he wanted, but the answer is entirely obvious."

"He was predictable as usual, yes, but this time I told him in no uncertain terms that his advances were unwelcome, both today and into the future," she advised.

He blinked. "You did?"

She looked up at him and frowned slightly. "Yes, I did. Why should that surprise you?"

"It doesn't surprise me," he exclaimed. "Well, it does surprise me in terms of the timing. I know that you never held him in high regard."

"I never held him in any regard," she corrected him. "Do you honestly believe that I ever had actual feelings for him?"

"No!" he objected. "I know you didn't. That's why it was so difficult to watch you being so friendly to him."

"That was only because I was required to be friendly to him," she stated before smiling and kissing him. "Now that I'm to be your wife, I have no need to be friendly to anyone that I don't want to."

He smirked. "I'm pleased to hear that…I think."

"For better or worse, darling, I do believe that I will soon find out just who my friends truly are," she noted heavily, laying her head back down. "I can't say that I won't be disappointed to lose some of them."

"It is their loss, Mary," he assured her. "Should it come to that."

She smiled against his chest. "Hopeful until the end, aren't you?"

"I don't give up easily," he answered. "I did that before and it cost me dear. Not again. Besides, you don't want a husband who is so easily defeated, do you?"

"I want you. On any terms, remember?" she asked.

"I do," he whispered. "And it means everything, my darling. I only wish I had realized it back then."

"Mmm. There are many things we could have done differently, and yet I wonder if it wouldn't have ended up leading us to where we are now all the same," she mused, running her hand along his stomach. "Granny's secret would have been out there for someone to discover, whether it be Richard or another. This way we ensure it will remain hidden forever."

"I do hope so," he nodded.

"It won't always be like this," she whispered. "Secret meetings, schemes and strategies. Eventually, it will be you and me living at Downton, having to keep each other company and entertained without any drama or scandals to speak of. Life will be so much more boring and pedestrian."

He smiled. "Do you promise?"

She laughed and stretched her leg across his thighs.

"I just hope you don't grow tired of me, that's all," she sighed with mock helplessness. "You've had so little experience. I wonder if you'll regret rushing into this so soon and not taking the chance to romance as many women as you like."

"Naughty," he snarled. "First, it's taken us almost ten years to reach this point, so I hardly think I'm rushing into anything. Second, what makes you think I could ever grow tired of you?"

"Perhaps you remain interested while you can't have me, but one we're married, the thrill of the chase will be gone. You'll have achieved your goal. Maybe you'll go out looking for the next adventure, the next challenge after that," she suggested, deliberately keeping her gaze on his stomach and avoiding his eyes. What started as a tease became suddenly real to her.

"Mary," he called, reaching down and lifting her chin gently so she would look at him. "You're right. I will be looking for another challenge, another adventure soon enough."

She swallowed tightly.

"After all, how else will I satisfy your need for excitement if I don't find journeys for us to take together?" he smirked.

She grinned and kissed him, shifting her hips and straddling him as his tongue reached up to duel with hers.

"Should we think about heading back?" he asked between kisses. "Your Mama and Granny will expect us at some point tonight."

"They'll go to sleep first," she replied, moaning as his hands moved down to fondle her bottom. "As long as we're home before dawn that will do."

"Spending the night here could be dangerous. We might get carried away," he rasped, his arousal pushing up against her.

"Too late for that," she purred, rocking her hips. "What we've done together already is at best, sinful and illegal, and at worst, well, there are plenty of scandalous words to describe what we've done."

He smiled. "While adultery is grounds for your divorce, it isn't illegal, at least, not independently on its own."

She arched her eyebrow before kissing him slowly and languidly. "And what if I wanted to do something illegal?"

He smirked. "Darling, I realize that our fortunes have been under threat in recent years, but that's all changed now and I assure you there is no need for you to stoop to petty thievery for us to get by."

She laughed and kissed him again. "I wasn't referring to anything like that. I was referring to this…"

She kissed her way to his ear and whispered her request.

His eyes widened and he might have gasped out loud. She smiled, feeling his hands grab her arse reflexively.

"Erm, well, I've never done anything like that before," he stammered.

"Neither have I, obviously," she replied, her cheeks flaming. "But I would with you. I want you to have something that will always be yours. Only yours."

He reached up and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Mary, you don't have to do that…"

"I want to," she nodded. "I want to do everything with you."

He smiled despite himself. "We would need some assistance, I think, besides the champagne, I mean."

She nodded. "I had some crème Chantilly brought up for the strawberries. Will that do?"

"I haven't a clue," he admitted. "I certainly hope so."

She blushed even deeper.

He swallowed tightly, his pulse leaping several paces. "Well, let's go and get that, and have several drinks while we try and sort this out. I must say I never imagined ever doing this."

"Neither did I," she laughed shakily. "I wonder if we're both doomed if we go ahead with it."

He smiled and kissed her softly. "If this condemns us to Hell, I'm not worried, darling. I know what Hell is like. I was there when I was at War and I was there these past years living without you."

She nodded in agreement.

"Let's just go slowly and see how it all plays out," he suggested.

She smiled and kissed him before they got out of bed and went back to the sitting room to fetch candles, another bottle of champagne, the strawberries and the bowl of light and fluffy whipped cream.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, July 1922**

If Violet Crawley was sometimes compared to a brewing storm given her sharp wit and sharper barbs that could be unleashed at a moment's notice, Martha Levinson was a typhoon, never subtle and launching everything all over the place. Cora's mother arrived accompanied by two servants and enough luggage to rival one of Mary's trips. She had been to Paris, Barcelona and Zurich before coming to Yorkshire, a last grand tour of Europe she claimed before she went back to America and settled down to a more leisurely life. Given all that Matthew had heard about her, he couldn't imagine her life being more leisurely than it already was, but the fact remained that she had travelled the Continent before arriving for her visit, which meant she had stories to tell.

The first dinner was tense to say the least. He knew that Violet detested the woman and somehow without Robert's presence to distract them, she and Martha jabbed at each other through four courses and the pudding. To be fair, Violet took even the most innocuous of comments to be a veiled insult when it surely wasn't, and to her credit, Martha made no mention at all of what she knew – that Cora had never, in fact, married the Earl of Grantham. Edith gamely showed up to help out, but with an infant to care for, she was never going to remain late into the evening. Cora made an effort, too, as did Mother, but Mrs Levinson outlasted them all, such that when even Mary finally retired, he was forced to remain behind with her grandmother. His secret fiancée squeezed his hands and promised to make it up to him later before she escaped, but that pleasant thought vanished when he came back into the parlour and found Martha lying back on the sofa with her shoes off.

Not that he hadn't expected the night to play out this way.

"All alone late at night with the Lord of the Manor," Martha smirked, accepting the freshly filled glass of sherry. "If only I was half my age, Mary wouldn't stand a chance."

He smiled and surprised her by clinking glasses before sitting down in his chair. "If you were half your age, I highly doubt you would be wasting your time on the likes of me."

She laughed and nodded. "Well said. You are clever. I'll give you that."

"You say it as though you're surprised," he noted.

"When I got your letter I thought you were either clever or stupid. Clever is winning at the moment, by a nose," she remarked.

He smiled and nodded.

"Mary seems happy," she noted, taking a sip of sherry.

"I like to think that she is," he agreed. "I know that I am. September will bring new problems, but for now I think we're quite happy, yes."

She smiled. "That's good. She's always been my favourite. Her and Sybil. I love Edith, too, but Sybil and Mary have always taken more after my side of the family, I believe."

"Will you be going over to visit before you head back to New York?" he asked.

"To Ireland? Oh, no," she shook her head. "Her letters sound happy enough, but it's a terribly backwards place. If I wanted to spend time with a mob of drunken louts, I'd just go to Hell's Kitchen, or Boston if I'm really desperate."

He chuckled imagining Tom's relief at Sybil informing him that Martha was not coming to visit.

"May I ask you something?" he requested.

She rolled her eyes. "You English and your unnecessary manners. In the time it took you to ask for my permission to ask a question, you could have asked your question."

He grinned. "Why did you go along with my plan? When I wrote that letter to you I was desperate and frantic. You could have turned me down. You could have ruined us. Why didn't you?"

She smiled at him as if he were missing something obvious. "Mary shouldn't have to suffer for one of dear Violet's indiscretions and neither should you."

"I agree," he replied. "Still, though, if the roles were reversed between you, I dare say that Cousin Violet would not have been so generous."

"I can assure you that she definitely would not be," she huffed. "That's partly why I agreed to help you – because I knew it was something she wouldn't do."

"And the other part?" he questioned.

She finished her sherry and reached over to place the empty glass on the coffee table. Settling back down on the sofa, she looked up at the ceiling for a while before turning her head to gaze at him with what were surprisingly sharp eyes.

"Do you know what Patrick – Violet's husband – told me when we were negotiating over Cora's dowry? He said that we should consider ourselves lucky to have found a husband for her, that Robert was some kind of big catch that she wouldn't be able to manage to snag without my family's money to go along with her. The man's arrogance was even greater than my husband's, and that's saying quite a lot," she snorted.

He nodded, paying close attention.

"Patrick was paired with Violet. He set up Robert with Cora. The Crawleys never have to work for anything. Have you noticed? Everything just falls into their laps without them having to lift a finger," she continued.

He frowned. While what she said wasn't entirely true, it wasn't entirely false, either.

"When you wrote to me, I tried to figure out what you might have up your sleeve. No one is stupid enough to write to a stranger and give her the means to destroy his life. I wondered what you were up to in coming to me for help, what your game was," she explained.

"How disappointed you must have been," he smiled.

" _Au contraire, mon ami_ ," she laughed. "I thought it through and realized that you didn't have anything to hide. This was your way to try and help Mary, and nothing else mattered to you. Your pride. Your reputation. Even your money. You put it all at risk to help her. Well, Mary may not be a Crawley but she's still my granddaughter. I wasn't going to stand by and watch her waste away with that Richard Carlisle."

"Do you know what I think?" he replied. "I think that you actually like this situation. You said yourself that Patrick and Violet always looked down on you. I've heard that you aren't the most popular of people among Manhattan Society. Installing Mary as Countess of Grantham is a bit of a coup for you, isn't it? Though no one knows it, she's an outsider like me. I think you saw a chance to play Kingmaker at Downton Abbey and you took it. Having Violet in your debt is worth far more to you than money."

"Touché, young Lochinvar," she laughed.

"Regardless of your reasons, I am grateful. We both are," he said earnestly.

"Just be good to her," she ordered. "You're different from Robert and very different from Patrick. I don't know if that means you're better or not, but try to be."

"I will," he promised.

"You must also swear to me that you will come and visit. Newport is lovely in the summer," she added.

He laughed. "You have my word, Grandmamma."

She smiled smugly at that.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1922**

"My Lord, there is a gentleman waiting to see you in the small salon," Carson announced, coming into the parlour.

"The small salon? Why would you show him through to there, Carson?" Matthew frowned, folding up his newspaper and looking at the butler quizzically.

"He asked to see the space, my Lord," Carson replied.

"But why? What could anyone possibly want with…" Matthew began before he stopped and his eyes widened in shock.

The butler smiled for a brief second before nodding towards the doorway.

"Yes, I'll see him. Have tea brought in, please," Matthew said, rising from his chair. "And have Lady Mary come join us."

"Yes, my Lord," Carson nodded.

Matthew swallowed, trying to calm his nerves as he made the short walk into the Great Hall and over to the small salon. He was suspicious of Carson's information right up until he came into the room and greeted his visitor.

"Señor Director," he nodded, coming over and shaking the man's hand. "This is a surprise. You've come a long way."

"I had business in London," the Director of the Prado Museum in Madrid explained. "I apologize for showing up without an appointment, however that was done on purpose."

"I see," Matthew replied.

"This is the room you have prepared, no?" the Director asked, glancing around the spacious ballroom.

"Yes," Matthew nodded. "I planned to use this wall for the display."

The Director nodded and looked over to the blank space, his eyes narrowing as if he was examining the very air itself.

"My initial decision was to reject your request," the Director said finally, his eyes still roaming the wall. " _Las Meninas_ is a gift from Velázquez to all of Spain. I am not sure that you English deserve to have it, even for a few weeks."

Matthew pursed his lips and didn't reply.

"I looked into you, Lord Grantham," the Director continued. "You have several interesting pieces on display here, all accumulated by your predecessors. My contacts in London are well aware of your family, but they had nothing to say about you – no recent purchases, some regular donations to the National Gallery and such, but no real involvement in the art world as far as anyone knew."

"I do appreciate art," Matthew replied, regarding the man cautiously. "I don't tend to flaunt anything – whether it be my family's collection, or my support."

"Exactly, yes," the Director nodded. "If you were a true collector, I would have my doubts. We have many collectors in our country who would love to exhibit _Las Meninas_. The Prado has always said no to such requests because they are more about the person's ego than about the appreciation of the painting itself. So, tell me why it is important for you to bring this masterpiece to England? Why do you want it?"

Matthew paused before replying, considering his answer and the Director's careful gaze. If he said he was a great admirer of Spanish art he would be seen as a liar. If he told the truth and said that while he appreciated _Las Meninas_ very much, the true reason he sought it out was for Mary's benefit the Director might be offended. If he tried to fight back and pointed out how much money this exhibition was costing him, he might lose the opportunity altogether.

People think he is nice. People think he is good. People think he is incapable of lies. They're wrong. He is a lawyer. He can lie with the best of them.

He's also a man who loves a woman. What harm is there in lying when they've already sinned countless times? The answer comes to him before he can even ponder the question.

"Exhibiting _Las Meninas_ here would be a triumph for my family, there is no question," Matthew began. "We would be seen as achieving the impossible, accomplishing what so many others have failed to do, or only dreamed of doing."

The Director watched him, betraying nothing.

"My cousin, Lady Mary, who you met in Madrid," Matthew continued. "I am doing this for her. This would be her triumph, her victory. She would host the exhibition and I have every confidence in her abilities. Without going into detail, she has endured a difficult time as of late. Bringing _Las Meninas_ here would put all of that behind her."

The Director nodded slowly.

"You ask if I am a collector. Beyond inheriting my family collection, no, I am not. I do want to share _Las Meninas_ with others here, so they might see it and appreciate it. I have not always been an Earl, or even knew that I was in line to be one. I was raised in Manchester and a good man found me and brought me here. He trusted in me for the sole reason that my blood was of the proper lineage. I could easily live out the rest of my days in comfort but I believe that I owe it to the man who gave me this chance to try and do right by this family. Wanting to bring _Las Meninas_ here is not for my ego or some silly impulse. I owe it to Lady Mary to make the attempt."

The Director considered his answer. "I have heard worse explanations, Lord Grantham."

Matthew swallowed tightly.

"Hello, Director," Mary called, coming into the room.

"Lady Mary," the Director bowed his head respectfully.

"What brings you here?" she asked, smiling at Matthew briefly before looking at the Director. "If we had known in advance of your visit, I would have had a proper reception planned for you."

"That wasn't necessary, Lady Mary," the Director replied. "I am up from London briefly only."

"Ah," she nodded. "And what do you think of this space? Lord Grantham has grand plans for it, you know."

"It is impressive," the Director nodded, glancing over at the doors leading to the outside.

"It is fortunate that you are here, Director. I had a question regarding one of Velázquez's works actually," she noted.

"I see, well, I shall answer if I can," the Director responded.

"It concerns the _Rokeby Venus_ ," she explained. "That is a Velázquez painting, isn't it?"

"It is," the Director nodded. " _La Venus del espejo_ , or _Venus at her Mirror_."

"Yes, that's the one," she smiled. "My father took us to Rokeby Park to see it when I was young. I had no idea it was painted by a Spanish Master back then, of course."

"It was purchased over a century ago. There was quite a scandal about it years ago when it was defaced at the National Gallery," the Director noted. "Apparently not all of the English are admirers of Velázquez's work."

"That was unfortunate, yes, but it has since been restored and still is on display at the National Gallery today, isn't it?" she questioned.

"That is true, yes," the Director confirmed. "I saw it just two days ago."

"Yes, how inspiring that art helps us look past our petty differences and share in its beauty," she smiled.

"Indeed," the Director agreed.

"The Director was mulling over our offer," Matthew advised.

"Ah, well surely you didn't come all this way to deliver bad news?" she nodded, arching her eyebrow. "You will agree that Lord Grantham has met every condition you have set, and even exceeded them. Not only is the Prado receiving a worthy sum, but you can easily imagine how prestigious the exhibition will be once held here."

The Director looked at her curiously.

"My Lady," a voice called from the doorway.

"Mrs Hughes," Mary replied, turning to the housekeeper. "Please show the Director the rooms that have been set aside for his staff. I'm afraid that English cuisine will take some getting used to, but we will endeavour to show your people our utmost hospitality."

The Director looked from Mary to Matthew and back again before nodding his head and following Mrs Hughes out of the small salon and down the hallway.

"You bullied him," Matthew marvelled, coming over and taking her in his arms.

"Of course, I did," she replied haughtily. "No one shows my husband any disrespect and gets away with it, especially in our home. He didn't come all this way to tell you no. He wanted to be sure of you, to see that you were serious with his own eyes."

He chuckled and kissed her lightly. "I ought to have let you handle the negotiations on your own in Madrid. We might have left the city with a better result."

She smiled and shook her head. "You were wonderful. You are wonderful."

"I doubt that," he chuckled. "Which is why I am most fortunate to have you as a partner."

"Partner," she repeated, grinning at the word. "That sounds so very official, and yet so right at the same time. It's going to take some getting used to how you involve me in everything. No other man ever has."

"I can understand the thinking in a small way," he joked. "Negotiating with you is a daunting task."

"Lucky for you that I am open to granting you favourable terms, then," she replied, kissing him softly.

* * *

The Director dined at Downton Abbey that same evening before staying over as a guest of the Earl of Grantham. Mrs Patmore did not react very well to the news that she was to conjure a Spanish-themed menu on the spot. Carson allowed her to bellow for a good five minutes before informing her that the Director was perfectly capable of eating the pork chops she had already prepared.

Though they had an agreement in principle, such an undertaking would not be concluded in short order. There would be agreements to draft and finalize, and details to iron out to ensure that _Las Meninas_ arrived safely and was properly protected at all times. The Director returned to Madrid the next morning, promising to have his lawyers contact Matthew and move ahead with the process. The bureaucracy didn't concern him as he and the rest of the family waved goodbye to their guest. He and Mary had secured the means to protect her once the divorce decree became absolute. All they could do now was wait for September and ride out the storm to come.

None of that was on their minds when they came into the small salon late in the evening following the Director's departure. Moonlight shone in through the large glass doors and the silver glow that danced along the floor and up the far wall was enough to show them the way to the blank space where their trophy would eventually be mounted.

"I've been thinking. Perhaps we ought to have the banns read the moment the decree is made final," he mused.

"That would be most entertaining," she replied. "Lady Mary Crawley divorces Sir Richard Carlisle on the front page, engagement announcement contained within."

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, holding her from behind as they looked at the wall.

"Do you want a large wedding?" she asked, turning her head and kissing him. "I've already done one, but that shouldn't stop us."

"Perhaps just something smaller back here after the ceremony," he pondered. "I have more people to invite from the office and the House of Lords than I did before, but the numbers should still be manageable."

"I expect I won't have many people at all to invite," she noted.

"Mary," he sighed.

"No, it's all right," she assured him, nodding her head. "I think I'm warming to the idea of only inviting those close to me, those who stood by me through everything, such as Anna and a few friends of mine in London who I know won't abandon me when the news hits."

"The guest list, aside, are you looking forward to the wedding?" he asked.

She arched her eyebrow playfully. "What do you think?"

"I'm looking forward to all sorts of things," he drawled.

She grinned. "I should think that the wedding night will hold no special excitement for you. You've already had me."

"The day that I no longer feel excitement at the prospect of making love to you is the day that I no longer want to live," he retorted. "The idea of making love to you when you are finally my wife is most exciting, I assure you."

"Hmm," she smirked, reaching back and grasping him through his trousers. "I see."

Normally he would be shocked at her groping him outside of the bedroom. Normally she would never even think to try it. Tonight, however, it was already late, the rest of the family and servants had retired long ago and they were standing here on the verge of seeing their gamble pay off handsomely. They were too happy and aroused to feel anything but triumphant.

"I want you to look straight ahead," he whispered, kissing her cheek. His one hand slipped through the folds of her robe and past the bodice of her camisole to grasp the warm skin of her breast.

"Mmm," she sighed, leaning back against him, her eyes remaining on the empty wall before them.

"Do you see it, Mary?" he asked, his other hand reaching down to press against her and rock her back against him. "Imagine the wall covered by that beautiful painting and this room full of guests.

She gasped as his fingers built her up.

"Do you see it?" he asked thickly.

"Yes," she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as he pushed her towards her release.

He increased his pace and after several minutes she fell apart in his arms, her lips pressed against his neck as she rode out her pleasure.

"Darling?" she purred, reaching up and caressing his face.

"Yes?" he answered.

"I want you to look straight ahead," she ordered, turning around and kissing her way down his front.


	16. Chapter 16

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, August 1922**

"Do you see it, Mary?" he asked, his other hand reaching down to press against her and rock her back against him. "Imagine the wall covered by that beautiful painting and this room full of guests.

She gasped as his fingers built her up.

"Do you see it?" he asked thickly.

"Yes," she moaned, her head falling back against his shoulder as he pushed her towards her release.

He increased his pace and after several minutes she fell apart in his arms, her lips pressed against his neck as she rode out her pleasure.

"Darling?" she purred, reaching up and caressing his face.

"Yes?" he answered.

"I want you to look straight ahead," she ordered, turning around and kissing her way down his front.

 **Chapter 16:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, September 1922**

For once in her life, Mary was at a loss as to what to wear. Matthew and her sisters would argue that it wasn't nearly as rare an occurrence as she might believe, and if Anna weren't such a darling, she would probably have much to say on the subject also, but they weren't here to offer their snide comments so as she stood in her robe frowning at the tenth and eleventh dresses that Helen had dutifully shown her, all she could think about was how impossible it seemed to make a choice.

"No," she decided finally, shaking her head. "Try a white blouse with a skirt in a lighter colour."

"Yes, my Lady," the maid nodded and went back into the dressing room to search out another set of options.

Mary sighed and padded over to the window. The sun was shining and there wasn't a cloud in the blue sky, which was all quite irregular for Yorkshire. If she was one to believe in omens, she would say this was rather auspicious, but she wasn't and so it's not. This was just another day, she told herself yet again, but she knew that was a lie. The reason she put so much thought into what she would wear, the reason she felt so nervous and shaken was because today was not at all just another day.

It was the day of her resurrection.

She frowned, a long sigh leaving her lips. It wasn't as if there was any magic to today. Murray would be arriving with the court papers declaring her divorce final and absolute and that would be that. They were all aware of this date from six months ago when Richard's petition was filed. At one point there was talk that it might all be finished a few weeks early, at another it was suggested it may take the court a further few days. She had stopped wondering as to when it would happen long ago, far more preoccupied with what would happen afterwards. All the same, today was the day her marriage would be officially ended, and that gave her pause.

What did one wear on the day that part of one's life was over and a new one about to begin? Something more formal? Black for mourning or colours for liberation? She honestly didn't know. She didn't feel sad, of course. This was the day she would finally cast off the shackles of her family secret and free herself from Richard once and for all. This was the day that she could be with Matthew freely and unapologetically. She could hold his hand, even kiss him in public without fear of the consequences.

They had spent the past months planning their life together, speaking about it as though it was a vision somewhere far off in the distance. Now, it was here. They could finally get on with it.

"My Lady," Helen called, coming out of the dressing room holding up two new outfits.

Mary turned and examined the clothes. As instructed, Helen had pulled two white blouses. One had a higher, ruffled collar, the other a neck that plunged into a crossed vee. She already imagined what necklace to wear with it without even seeing the skirt.

"This one," she nodded and moved over to the mirror, standing still while Helen went about setting the chosen outfit aside and removing her Mistress' robe.

Mary arched her eyebrow at her own reflection while Helen helped her dress. She shouldn't look any different, or feel any different from yesterday, but she did somehow. Her eyes were brighter somehow. Her long fingers seemed to twitch with renewed energy. Helen fetched the long pearl necklace that she requested and helped her with it, as well as the matching bracelet. Finally, the maid brought over her rings on a silver tray.

"I'll put this one away, Milady," the maid apologized, moving the diamond engagement ring off to the side and away from the others.

Mary stared at the tray for a moment, lost in her memories. The engagement ring was always a bit too gaudy to be elegant, the stone large and impressive, but almost begging to be noticed. She received so many compliments on it over the years and she always accepted them with grace. Today, however, she felt a sense of relief that she wouldn't have to wear it ever again.

Helen moved to take away the gold wedding band as well before Mary stopped her.

For the first time since he gave it to her in secret almost a year ago, Mary imagined not wearing Matthew's ring, not because she didn't want to, but because she could stow it away until he had the chance to put it on her finger properly. All through the Season and at Mama's garden party she wore her rings and smiled, waving away any inquiries about Richard by saying he was too busy with work to accompany her to wherever it was she was going. Today, the excuses were over. Today, the pretending stopped. Today, Matthew's ring is the only one she wants.

"I'll take care of this," she stated, nodding towards the door. "Go and tell Mama that I'll be down shortly."

"Yes, my Lady," Helen curtsied and left the room.

Mary carried the tray over to her vanity and picked up her wedding band. Smiling brightly, she placed it carefully in her jewellery box and closed the lid before heading out to the hallway.

* * *

 _'_ … _whereby it was decreed that the marriage solemnised between the petitioner and the respondent be dissolved unless sufficient cause be shown to the court within six months from the making thereof why the said decree should not be made absolute, and no cause having been shown, it is hereby certified that the said decree was made final and absolute and that the said marriage was thereby dissolved.'_

Matthew watched Mary carefully as she read the decree aloud. He knew that she didn't care much for legal jargon, but the language of the document was quite straightforward, at least as far as legal documents went. Her eyebrow arched in contemplation as she read over the text once more, the official red seal at the top giving the single page additional weight. He expected she was taken aback at how years of her life were whittled down to a few short paragraphs on one sheet of paper. Given all that she had been through in her marriage, it was likely startling that it could all be undone with what seemed to be a token order.

"This is it, then?" she asked, looking over at him and waving the page in the air.

He nodded. "It's done. You are Lady Mary Carlisle no more."

She smiled at that, her eyes seeming to come alive. "I see the decree names 'Matthew Reginald Crawley' as the Co-Respondent."

He shrugged. "I am the other man, as it were. Lady Mary Carlisle's lover."

"Mmm, yes, you most certainly are," she teased, coming over to his chair and leaning down to kiss him. "Lady Mary Carlisle's very skillful lover, indeed."

He chuckled and kissed her back, reaching up and caressing her arm. "That particular detail doesn't make it into the decree, I'm afraid."

She pouted mockingly. "Pity. I ought to have sworn an affidavit testifying to your prowess then."

"I would be very interested to read that," he smirked.

"It would be quite the tale, I assure you," she drawled, kissing him again. "I, Lady Mary Carlisle, make oath and swear that throughout the month of October, I was thoroughly ravished by the Co-Respondent, oftentimes to the point that I could barely walk for hours afterwards."

He groaned as she pulled away and straightened back up. "That was cruel, darling."

"How so?" she teased. "I just paid you quite the compliment, didn't I?"

He gave her a petulant frown and shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Well, I'll be pleased to file this away and never look upon it ever again," she declared, going back over to the desk and setting the decree down.

"How does it feel to be divorced?" he asked.

She gave him a sultry smile. "It feels as though I can breathe again for the first time in ages."

He grinned as she came back to him and sat down on his lap, not caring who saw them cuddling together in the library in the middle of the day.

"I should take advantage of your good mood before you wise up and start casting around for your next husband," he joked.

She slapped him lightly on the chest. "I've already found my second husband. He can be maddening and annoying sometimes, but overall, he'll do."

"What a testimonial," he deadpanned before taking her hand and kissing her fingers. "Shall I propose again? Make it official?"

"Tonight," she smiled, stroking his cheek before taking her hand back. "I want you to ask me in private."

He smiled and nodded. "I wonder if we shouldn't go to America for a while. We can wait things out there and return when news has died down."

She sighed sadly. "You're so wonderful to suggest it, but no. We're already lost so much time. I won't say that I'm ready for what may come because I'm not, but what I know is that I want to be here…with you."

"This is your home," he stated.

"This is our home," she smiled.

 **Loxley Hall, Yorkshire, England, September 1922**

"The invitation had my name and Mama's, but that was it," Edith admitted, looking over at her sister nervously.

Mary rolled her eyes. "How disappointing. I expected more of Susan, but I suppose it's not surprising in the end. She can be rather stuck in when it comes to certain beliefs."

"No one is saying anything overtly against you, as far as I am aware," Edith noted. "But it seems implied that you aren't to be included in anything going forward."

Mary scoffed. "Well, I can't say that it comes as a shock. There are certain charities that have not been returning my letters all of a sudden, but not being in London has helped. I expect my name is being bandied about with great hilarity in the city."

"There are those who are likely rejoicing in your fall," Edith admitted. "How's Matthew handling it?"

"He's more concerned about me rather than himself," Mary shook her head. "The phone calls have become less frequent, thankfully. Carson was quite gruff with a few reporters who dared to come to the front door."

Edith smiled knowingly at that. "And what of your exhibition?"

Mary's frown turned into a smug smile. "The painting arrived last week and it looks absolutely majestic. There will be an announcement in the papers next week and we're putting together the guest list for the debut viewing."

"And which papers will be sharing your news?" Edith asked.

Mary smirked. "Every one except for Richard's."

The sisters laughed and sipped their tea.

"You're just waiting for people to show their true colours before you send out the invitations aren't you?" Edith laughed.

Mary shrugged. "I'm simply allowing them the opportunity to show the courage of their convictions, that's all."

Edith shook her head and smiled wryly.

"Now, where is Marigold?" Mary asked. "I was hoping to see my niece before going back to Downton."

"She should be up from her nap shortly. Nanny will bring her down," Edith advised. "Have you talked to Sybil about Christmas yet?"

Mary nodded. "I've made her promise to come visit, but she might hold off until Spring. Apparently, neither she nor Tom can come here for Christmas and the wedding, so she'd prefer to make it for the wedding if she has to choose."

Edith nodded. "You could always get married in December and save her the trouble."

"I was thinking that, yes," Mary agreed. "I'm sure that Matthew would be agreeable. We don't need to worry about using the Village Church, so we could have it anytime, really."

Edith looked at her sister sympathetically. Even though Mary's first wedding was already at the church, she knew that her sister wanted to walk down the aisle with Matthew waiting for her.

"Well, it would be nice if you could make it happen," Edith said finally. "I'm anxious to meet little Aidan, and I'm sure that Marigold is also."

"Aren't we all?" Mary smiled.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, October 1922**

Matthew glanced over the top of his book and smiled as he watched Mary pacing back and forth, a sheaf of papers in her one hand. She was muttering to herself, reciting different facts on _Las Meninas_ and its creator, Diego Velázquez. Watching her work was intriguing to him. He always assumed that her natural talents and her mother's training were what made her such a good hostess, but ever since the painting had arrived from Madrid with its escort, he learned all that went into Mary's preparation.

Though she was wearing just her nightgown, she moved about the bedroom as though she was giving a tour of the Louvre. She would stop before the mirror and practice different gestures and looks, even try out various smiles and laughs as well. Details and information would pour out of her mouth from memory and when she lost her train of thought or forgot something she had just read, she would frown and go back to her papers, studying with more determination than some of his classmates back when he was at Cambridge.

He couldn't help but smile watching his betrothed attack her role with such vigour. The amount of work that went into making her hosting look so effortless was impressive and he gained a new appreciation for what she faced in her life. How many times had she gone through this exact same process so she could make Carlisle look good in front of his guests? How many nights did she spend dutifully going over her lines and committing the most obscure facts to memory so she could impress some toff who saw her as just a pretty face and nothing more?

In the weeks since her divorce became final, she had been shunned by much of Society. Though Winter Season was months away yet, there were still weekly parties and dinners that occurred both here and in London. She wasn't invited to any of them, doors closed to her that had once been wide open. It would have been ever so tempting to retreat into a shell, to avoid attention, particularly the scrutiny that would come from hosting a once-in-a-lifetime art exhibition. As he expected, though, Mary rose to the challenge.

"The red cross shown on the painter's chest is the Cross of Saint James of the Order of Santiago," Mary recited to her own reflection. "Interestingly, we know that this detail was added after the painting was completed in 1656. Velázquez did not receive knighthood until 1659, and even though the King favoured him at the time, he could not have been a knight when the painting was finished. It would have been frowned upon for him to paint himself as a knight without actually having received the honour."

Matthew closed his book and set it on the nightstand. Sitting up, he smiled and continued to watch his fiancée at work.

"There continues to be some debate over how the Cross came to be included in the painting. One of the more romantic theories is that King Philip IV himself painted it on the canvas after Velázquez's death in 1660," Mary said aloud, arching her eyebrow.

Matthew smiled and shook his head in wonder.

"What?" Mary frowned, looking at him over her shoulder. "Something funny?"

"No," Matthew answered. "I'm just sitting here being dazzled, is all."

"It's hardly that impressive," she huffed setting her papers down on her vanity and coming to bed. "I'm just trying to make sure that I don't look foolish in front of the guests."

"You won't," he assured her, shifting over as she sat down. Before she could lie back, he slipped in behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Mmm, that's lovely, darling," she sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing into his massage.

"You're quite tense," he remarked, pushing firmly into the knots across her back. "You shouldn't allow all of this to affect you."

"I know," she breathed. "But it's imperative that this exhibition be the grandest of the grand. Your name is attached to it."

"My name will be perfectly fine in any event," he said, leaning down and kissing her shoulder as he eased one strap of her nightgown down her arm. "I want everyone to see just how incredible you are and they will, I have no doubt."

She hummed as he kissed a trail over to the nape of her neck.

"More than anything, however, my darling," he continued, moving over to her other shoulder and slipping the strap off of her. "I want you to enjoy this, to savour the moment, this chance that we have. Who knows what's coming? I am the luckiest man in the world to have you as mine after I botched things up so horribly. Now that we're together and able to achieve these things, we mustn't take them for granted."

"You never botched anything up," she countered, gasping as he eased her nightgown down her front.

"I was a prideful fool that should never have left you all those years ago," he growled, his hands coming around to fondle her bare breasts. "I should have been by your side to protect you from Pamuk and Carlisle and…"

"Shh," she scolded him lightly, turning and kissing his cheek. "No more, Matthew. No more regrets. No more living in the past."

"Are you happy?" he asked, kissing her lightly.

"I am now with you," she replied, leaning back and resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her neck as his fingers on her breasts grew more insistent.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"Do you want me?" she asked, a smile on her lips as her hands reached back for him.

He grunted and moved to give her easier access to him. "I always want you."

"Show me," she challenged.

He rose to his knees and came around to face her, pushing her down on to her back. Her hands took hold of his head, guiding him while he kissed her breasts and eased her nightgown past her hips and off. He settled over her, the heat and weight of him spiking her arousal.

"Matthew," she moaned, arching her back as his fingers played with one breast while his mouth attended to the other. "Mmm, so good."

She expected him to move up to kiss her or down to pleasure her but he did neither, remaining at her chest with loving focus. His hips moved against hers, his firm arousal pushing against the thin material of his pyjama trousers and giving her another delicious point of contact.

"Oh God," she exclaimed, shocked that his teasing was building her up so quickly. She opened her eyes and saw his devilish stare, his blue eyes dark with dangerous intentions. Her hands fell away to her sides, giving in to his ministrations and watching in rapt fascination as he feasted.

"Yes, yes, yes," she chanted, bucking her hips in rhythm with his, desperate now to see if he could send her over with just his lips and fingers on her breasts alone. When he flashed his teeth and bit into her just enough she keened and flew apart, the firm thrust of his hips adding to her bliss.

"I don't know how you did that," she sighed, smiling as he kissed his way up her body.

"I wasn't sure it would work, but I was hoping," he chuckled, slipping his tongue past her lips.

"Well, you are full of surprises," she laughed before shoving him over on to his back.

"I only wish to please you, my Lady," he joked.

"And you do, my Lord, so very thoroughly," she smirked, kissing him softly. "Matthew?"

"Yes, darling?" he replied, smiling at her as her hand moved down his stomach.

"Do you remember that night in the small salon?" she asked.

He blinked and nodded slowly. "Quite vividly."

"I was on my knees before you, taking you in my mouth," she hissed, smiling as she worked his trousers down and freed him.

"Yes," he mumbled.

"You like that, don't you? That you're the only man who's ever been in my mouth?" she teased.

"Yes," he rasped, gritting his teeth as she stroked him slowly.

"I was so horrid to you in the beginning, wasn't I?" she continued, lying down between his legs and placing a soft kiss on his length. "Isn't it fitting that I'm now all yours, that your wish is my command?"

"Mary," he mumbled. "I don't…"

"Shh," she smiled, playing with him with her tongue. "Let's just pretend, darling, just this once. We're back at Crawley House, I've come to welcome you to Downton. You don't say anything stupid about having one of us pushed on you."

He laughed shakily and nodded. "Would I have had a chance with you if I hadn't?"

She arched her eyebrow. "It would have helped your cause, no question."

He sighed as she took him in her mouth and lowered her head over part of him before lifting back up.

"Papa tells you from the beginning that you can choose between Edith and I," she continued, her eyes dark with need at the feel of him in her hand.

"I would always choose you," he gasped.

"Good boy," she grinned. "And instead of being stubborn and ridiculous, I agree to your demands. You become my husband, my lover, the first man to fuck me."

"Yes," he grunted, his eyes glazing over from the fantasy painted by her words.

"We can't keep our hands off each other in those early months," she told him. "You're the heir, Earl of Grantham presumptive, and I am your eager and willing new wife."

He groaned out loud as she took him in her mouth again, her lips and tongue driving him mad.

"Every time we make love you fill me with your seed," she whispered, his eyes bulging at her lurid talk. "It's only a matter of time before I'm carrying your child, your heir."

"Oh God, Mary," he moaned, staring at her in rapture.

"You want that, don't you, darling? You want to put your baby in me? You want me to give you children, don't you?" she probed, stroking him faster as she felt him swell in her hand.

"Mary, I love you," he sighed, raising up and watching her.

"Fuck me, darling," she begged, kissing her way up his body and straddling his legs. "Fill me."

He groaned as she gave him a hot kiss before reaching over to the nightstand drawer to grab a condom.

"Soon we won't need to use these," she promised, deftly opening the packet and sheathing him. "I can't wait to feel you bare and so deep inside me."

"Mary," he choked out, taking hold of her hips and shifting her into place. They both cried out as she sank onto him. He shifted her back and forth until she was taking all of him with every plunge.

"Yes, Matthew! Fuck me!" she moaned, holding him tight. The sound of their bodies crashing together and her vulgar words enflamed both of them and in mere moments she shouted with her second release. She fell against him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders as he kept up his thrusts.

With a snarl he turned them over, lifted her legs and planted his fists into the mattress on either side of her. She whimpered with every drive of his hips, her hands grabbing hold of his arms to steady herself. Staring up at his face twisted in concentration, she exhaled harshly beneath his unwavering cadence. Seeing his eyes lit with passion, she moved her hands to touch her breasts, enraging him towards his end.

"I'm yours, darling," she called. "All yours! I want to hear you. Please, Matthew, please."

He shouted her name as he flew over the edge, his arms aching as he struggled to keep from smothering her. The feel of him pulsing within her set her off and she arched her back and shook. The last shreds of his control turned them on to their sides and he held her close, breathing in her scent as their heartbeats raced wildly.

"Mmm, that was so good," she laughed, burying her head against his chest as a fierce blush coloured her cheeks. "The things that you made me say. Goodness."

"That _I_ made _you_ say?" he snorted in disbelief. "You can't be serious."

"Of course, I am," she teased, kissing his heated skin. "You're the only man who makes me have such depraved thoughts."

He kissed the top of her head. "I should not agree, or be proud of that, but it seems that I am."

She sighed and closed her eyes, letting his warmth and love wash over her. "Darling, this is enough for me, I want you to know that. You're enough. Just you. All on your own. I don't need status or great wealth. I would even dare say that I don't need Downton. The two of us together like this. I'm already happier than I've ever been in my life."

He grinned. "Thank you. But I'm afraid that you're going to have to accept a life full of all of it – me, Downton, Society, everything. It's no less than you deserve."

She laughed and lifted her head to kiss him softly. They snuggled together for a few moments more before he picked her up and carried her to the shower to wash.

 **Painswick House, Eaton Square, Belgravia, London, England, October 1922**

"This is quite nice, Rosamund. A bit salty, but so tender!"

Rosamund nodded, smiling as she sipped her sangria. Her assembled dinner guests continued to rave about the food, a carefully planned menu of Spanish _tapas_. Thin slices of _jámon iberico_ were currently being savoured, the foreign ham drawing many compliments.

"I must say that I was intrigued when the invitation for tonight mentioned there would be a Spanish theme," another guest gushed. "This has all been so very lovely."

Rosamund smiled knowingly at Lord Allan Lindsay seated across from her. He nodded to her in return. Over the past year they had become quite close and she was confident that he was taken with her. They saw each other several times a week and though he had yet to propose, he gave her the companionship that she had not enjoyed since Marmaduke had passed away years ago.

"Where did you find the inspiration for the menu?"

Rosamund nodded before replying. "It was a suggestion from my cousin, Matthew, actually. He recently traveled to Madrid and came back telling me all about the wonderful food. It took some doing to track down grocers in London who had the ingredients I required, but it's all come together quite well, I would say."

"Agreed," came the cheers.

"Lord Grantham has excellent taste. I am at a loss to explain how such a gentleman remains unwed."

Rosamund looked over and shared a glance with Meade, her butler. The old servant understood immediately and quietly left the dining room.

"Matthew is not lacking for prospects. In fact, he is likely to announce his engagement shortly," Rosamund noted.

"His engagement? Well that is rather stunning news! I didn't see him around anyone in particular during the Season."

"Neither did I. Who is it, Rosamund? Do you know?"

"I do," Rosamund smiled smugly. "My niece, Mary, the love of his life."

A few gasps went up around the table. Rosamund shared a knowing smirk with Allan.

"Mary? Well, that is quite shocking. Her divorce was just last month wasn't it?"

"It was, though I was under the impression that was known to my family only," Rosamund retorted coldly. "Have you heard otherwise?"

"There was talk of it," came the mumbled reply. "Sir Richard was seen unaccompanied for some months now."

"Well, Mary shall not be unattached for long. Matthew has proposed and there will be an announcement shortly. We are all so very happy for the both of them. They were almost engaged years ago before the War," Rosamund said pleasantly. "Now they've found their way back to each other."

"It's quite romantic, isn't it?" Allan chimed in.

Rosamund smiled at him kindly.

"To take a divorced woman as his bride, though. That's not exactly the done thing, is it?"

"It could make things rather difficult for him."

"How so?" Rosamund asked, already knowing full well what the answer would be.

"Forgive me, Rosamund, but you know how these things are seen. The man sits in the House of Lords. He will have difficulty speaking from a position of moral authority when he takes an adulteress as a wife. Beyond that, it would be unseemly to give invitations to the both of them. Of course, Mary is your niece and I have great respect for you, Cora and Lady Grantham, but this marriage would put some of us in a rather difficult situation."

Rosamund nodded slowly. "From associating with Matthew, you mean to say?"

"From associating with the both of them, yes. I'm afraid that Mary's past will place a taint upon him."

Rosamund reached for her glass. As she sipped her sangria, Meade returned to the dining room carrying a silver tray.

"Well," Rosamund noted, setting her glass down. "Matthew has thought of the consequences, I'm sure. He's quite thorough."

Murmurs went around the dinner table while Meade crossed over to arrive at her side.

"Now, the highlight of the evening," Rosamund announced. "As I mentioned, my cousin was recently in Madrid. He was there for sightseeing, of course, but also did some very good business as well. He met with representatives at the Prado and after some lengthy negotiations was able to loan a painting to be displayed in an exhibition at Downton Abbey next month."

"An exhibition? How ambitious of him."

"Indeed," Rosamund agreed. She nodded to Meade, who went around the table passing out the envelopes from the silver tray to some of the gathered guests. Those who received envelopes opened them and reviewed the elegant invitation cards held within.

"He was able to loan _Las Meninas_? Goodness!"

"I've never seen it but I've heard such glowing reviews of the piece."

"Has it ever left Spain I wonder?"

"No," Rosamund answered. "It is considered a national treasure and has not been at the Prado since its founding over a century ago. To say that the Spanish were reluctant to let it go is a severe understatement."

"Lord Grantham must have great powers of persuasion."

"Matthew is holding a series of private viewings at Downton by invitation only. There are strict controls on how many people are allowed to view the masterpiece at a time. Spanish security and curators have traveled with the painting and are staying Downton as his guests while the exhibition is ongoing," Rosamund explained.

"How very strange, yet I suppose such conditions must be agreed to if one is to successfully loan such a priceless work."

"Matthew has graciously extended invitations to some of you at my request. I do hope you will be able to join us at Downton next month. This is truly a momentous opportunity to view one of the most prized paintings in the world right here in England," Rosamund smiled.

The guests who had invitations nodded eagerly. The ones who didn't looked around in confusion.

"Excuse me, Rosamund. Were those all the invitations?"

Rosamund pursed her lips and fixed a cold glare on each of the guests excluded from the invitations. "Those are all of them, yes. You can understand that Matthew has had to make very difficult decisions in determining who to invite, and those of you who have received invitations are quite fortunate. For the rest of you, there may be a further viewing beyond the private exhibition. If there is, I'm sure you'll hear of it at some point."

Some of the excluded guests looked shocked. Others appeared crestfallen.

"There is some benefit to not being invited, however," Rosamund continued, holding everyone's attention. "You will be spared being put in a difficult situation. You see, Matthew is holding this exhibition as a present for Mary on the occasion of their engagement. She will, in fact, be hosting the viewings. If you have not been invited, it is out of Matthew's consideration and kindness, for he would not want any of you to be uncomfortable in their presence."

The guests stared at her entirely flabbergasted.

Three footmen entered the dining room carrying the next dish.

"Ah, now here we have _patatas bravas_ ," Rosamund declared, smiling cheerfully.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, November 1922**

"The reason that this painting has drawn so much attention is partly because of its use of illusion and shifting of reality. Some see it and assume that all that is depicted is a scene from the Royal Court in Spain. However, looking more closely we see many complexities that make us question what we know. The painter appears to be looking directly at us, as do some of the other figures. The mirror in the background appears to be a reflection of the King and Queen of Spain posing for a painting. Or, is it, in fact, a painting itself hung on the wall? The chamberlain at the door there, is he coming or going from the room? A painting posing these questions in the 17th century was considered revolutionary. Even today, there is great examination and analysis of _Las Meninas_ , and the more we learn, the more we see the genius in it."

The guests nodded and looked up at _Las Meninas_ with fresh interest. Some of them pointed out the details that Mary had mentioned, smiling at having discovered the intricacies that were previously hidden to them, like eager students who had been shown some great secret by an all-knowing teacher. Mary stood by and observed, a smile on her lips. Eventually, the group moved on to take refreshments and listen to the string quartet playing on the other side of the small salon. Mary remained behind and waited for the next group to come through.

"How are you holding up?" Matthew asked, coming up behind her.

"Fine, darling," she smiled at him. "You needn't be concerned about me."

"I'm not concerned about you, but you've been on your feet all day," he replied. "Unsurprisingly, my guest list seems to have grown once Cousin Violet and your mother got a hold of it."

"You're the one who wanted to share this gift with the entire country," she smirked. "They're only complying with the Earl's instructions."

"It's impressive how you can actually say that and make it sound as though you genuinely believe it," he grumbled.

She laughed and touched his arm with her left hand, the sparkling diamond engagement ring prominent on her finger. This was the first Society event she was a part of since her divorce and though she did receive several curious glances, no one was rude enough to mention Richard in her presence. Matthew's announcement had already headed off numerous questions. All that was important was that they were engaged to be married and everyone knew it.

"Go and occupy yourself with something," she said, smiling at him to soothe his ire. "I must attend to the next group of guests unless you'd rather stay and speak with them?"

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll go. If you need a break, though, take one."

"Thank you, darling," she squeezed his arm before sending him on his way. She watched him cross the floor and settle into a conversation with Evelyn and Anne.

Her eyes lingered upon him for a while, taking a moment to observe him as he laughed with Evelyn and his betrothed. The past weeks had been a whirlwind. The painting arrived from Spain with three guards and two curators. She was nervous watching them mount it on the wall of the small salon, and even more nervous when they covered it with a large sheet. Each day leading up to the opening of the exhibition she came here to make sure the painting was still in one piece. Even with the guards posted here and the curators helping to set up the room, she needed to make sure all was well, that this was real.

During her marriage to Richard, she had hosted far larger events than this one – extravagant charity balls and sumptuous dinners. This felt so much more important to her, however, because it was Matthew's and hers. She was invested in it to a much stronger degree than anything else she'd ever hosted before. All of those other times she was but an accessory, a talking prop to boost Richard's image. This time, she was front and centre. Matthew paid to bring _Las Meninas_ here, but it was her who presented it to their guests. The responsibility was both daunting and empowering. They weren't trying to curry favour or enhance their own status. Matthew didn't care for such things and she wasn't sure even this effort would save her with some people who refused to be even the least bit open-minded. The next month was more about defiance, about showing everyone that they were united as a couple and would not allow themselves to be defined by her divorce.

Besides, she always enjoyed sticking it to people who thought poorly of her.

Her gaze dropped to her hand, the diamond shining back up at her. Late one evening he came to her and though she was exhausted from yet another day of preparations, she was glad to see him, wanting to do nothing more than curl into his arms and fall asleep. They weren't nearly as secretive about their sleeping arrangements anymore. With their engagement announced to the family, they did as they pleased. Mama had the good sense to not say anything, and Helen knew not to come up to Mary's bedroom at any time of the day unless she was summoned. When he slipped in beside her and pulled the blankets over them, he brought out a velvet box and suddenly she was wide awake.

"I thought you ought to have something between now and the wedding," he muttered, smiling nervously at her. Only he would be nervous about giving a ring to a woman who had already accepted his proposal twice, she thought, smiling at him now. Luckily he didn't ask her again that night because upon seeing the gorgeous ring, she was stunned silent.

He made sure she wasn't silent for very long afterwards.

Her eyes shifted over to the looming majesty of _Las Meninas_ , still not entirely convinced that it was actually here in her home. The sheer size of it demanded respect, but it wasn't the sort of painting that had people gasping in awe right from the off. There were no religious images or heroes battling monsters or anything like that. It drew people in with all of the details spread out across its large canvas and the longer one looked at it, the more it changed and revealed. To be able to take her guests on an exploration of it was thrilling for her, to open their eyes to features they perhaps couldn't find on their own.

To show them a side of her that the rumours and gossip didn't tell.

"My Lady," Carson called, striding over to her. "The next group of guests is ready for you."

She smiled and nodded. "Show them in, please, Carson."

 **Grantham Arms, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, December 1922**

"You really must calm down, darling. No one likes to see a grumpy Earl, you know," Mary counseled, holding on to his arm as they marched through the snow.

"I am calm. I'm calmly going over how I'm going to wring that bloody bastard's neck," Matthew snapped, his face darkened into a scowl.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, the snow crunching beneath their feet as they wandered past the shops. There were toys and Christmas scenes in the windows, delicious scents coming from the bakers and school children laughing as they scampered home for luncheon. It was picturesque, Winter in the Village, and it made her smile.

"You can't wring his neck. You can't have anything to do with him. That's what he wants, isn't it? To get a rise out of you," she stated.

"He has succeeded," he grumbled. " _Yorkshire Earl pays to bring culture to his home_. It's ridiculous."

"It is ridiculous," she agreed. "Which is why you will allow him to make a fool of himself and his papers and not dignify the story with a reply."

"Aren't you angry with him at all?" he demanded. "He doesn't mention you on purpose, but the implication is there."

She shrugged. "Honestly, darling, the list of injustices that Richard has wrought upon me is so long that this would barely make the first page."

He scoffed, relenting just long enough to open the door to the pub so she could pass through first. "Your restraint is remarkable."

"The only reason that I am able to dismiss this so easily is that nothing can take away from what a grand success your plan has been," she explained, smiling at him as they came into the warm restaurant and made their way to Matthew's usual table at the back. "The exhibition has received glowing reviews from every newspaper, except for those that Richard controls. Every guest who has come through has left in awe and wonder."

"Perhaps, however, your invitations for Winter Season are still decidedly sparse when compared to Edith or your mama," he noted, holding out her chair so she could sit.

"That means I have more time to spend with my intended, doesn't it?" she smiled as he sat down beside her at the large circular table. "It also ensures that I do not have to suffer running into Richard or his new beloved."

Matthew sighed at that, his fury relenting a touch. There were sightings of Carlisle and a new woman in London as early as August, right around the time of Cora's garden party, which he expected was not at all a coincidence. Lady Sarah Catherwood was the daughter of a politician and though her family was not as esteemed as Matthew's, there was no doubt that Carlisle was associating with her to gain access to her father and his network of contacts. The fact that she bore no resemblance at all to Mary, being a redhead with green eyes, was another telling feature. While Mary was hardly jealous and it wasn't as if she could complain or be surprised that Richard had moved on so quickly, seeing their photo splashed across his newspapers still reminded her of all that had happened to her in the past months.

"Let this go, darling, please. At the very least, do not allow it to ruin the rest of our day."

He frowned but took her gloved hand and kissed it lightly. "Fine. I'll drop the entire stupid business…for you."

She laughed knowingly. "In exchange for some tribute, I expect."

"Of course," he smiled for the first time all day. "We have the house to ourselves, don't we?"

She blushed and nodded. "Let's at least try and use a bedroom this time. Granny mentioned that vase we broke yet again yesterday before she left for London."

"The vase that I broke," he corrected her. "My story was entirely plausible."

"You knocked it over when you fell down reaching for a lost book?" she questioned. "You do realize she never believed you even for a second, don't you?"

"Why wouldn't she?" he frowned. "There is no other explanation."

"Except the truth," she teased. "I still can't fathom why you reached out for it."

"I was trying to hold on to something, anything," he whinged, glancing around to make sure they weren't being heard by any of the other patrons. The pub was quite full and lively given the hour, but he and Mary tended to invite attention wherever they went. "You were weakening my legs quite thoroughly at the time, if you recall."

She blushed even worse but couldn't help but smile. "I thought you had better stamina than that, my Lord."

He frowned. "Careful, darling. I may need to test yours this evening if you carry on."

They were thankfully interrupted by the wild squealing of a laughing toddler.

"Ah, there is my favourite little lad," Mary grinned, standing up and holding out her arms as Anna came over carrying her son.

"Careful that Lady Sybil and little Aiden don't hear you say that," Anna smiled, handing the babe over to Mary and nodding to Matthew.

"Anna," Matthew smiled in return. Even though it had been years now since she was last in their service, she still struggled to call them or any of the family by their proper names.

"I've got him, Anna," Mary assured her, smiling and cooing to the baby in her arms, who was gaping at her. "Go and attend to your customers."

"I am," Anna smiled. "Your usual, my Lord?"

"Thank you, Anna," Matthew nodded.

"You really are far too predictable," Mary joked, rocking the little boy back and forth. "The entire menu here is delicious. You should try something new."

Matthew grinned at the sight of her holding the little boy with blonde hair and brown eyes. "Who do you think helped them taste the dishes? I'm merely trying to make things easy on them, that's all."

She smiled and went back to playing with Anna's son, holding his pudgy little hand in hers and singing lightly to him.

"Excuse me, my Lord," Bates called, coming over to the table.

"Ah, Bates, there you are," Matthew nodded, standing up and shaking the man's hand. "Good day to you. Lady Mary is spending time with the love of her life, as you can see."

"And His Lordship is just here to eat," Mary retorted, sharing a knowing look with Bates before returning to his son.

Bates smiled and nodded. "Anything that keeps him from running all over the place and driving Anna mad is most welcome. Ever since he started walking it's as though he won't sit still. Crawling wasn't nearly this bad."

"That's what Edith and Sybil note as well," Mary laughed. "Who knows, Bates? You might have yourself a little Olympian on your hands."

They all laughed as the baby continued to giggle in Mary's hold.

"Begging your pardon, my Lord, but Reverend Travis wanted to come and speak to the both of you," Bates advised.

Matthew blinked in surprise and looked over at Mary in confusion. "By all means. He ought to know he doesn't need permission."

In moments, Bates went and fetched the minister and brought him to Matthew's table before he went back behind the bar. Matthew and Mary both greeted Travis warmly and invited him to sit. Though they saw the man regularly at Church on Sundays, it was rare that they ever spoke to him beyond the usual pleasantries, and seeing him at the pub was even more of a unique event.

"I must apologize, my Lord, my Lady," Travis began. "I have neglected to congratulate you properly on your engagement."

Mary did a much better job of hiding her shock than Matthew did. Steadying Anna's son in her arms, she nodded and smiled. "Thank you. We're very happy."

"Very happy," Matthew echoed.

"So you should be," Travis nodded. "It strikes me that you have not come to see me to discuss the ceremony, however. While we are a small congregation, as you know, we are actually rather busy, particularly in the Spring, and it would be most helpful if I could secure your wedding date in advance so I can better plan the rest of our calendar."

This time, Mary was equally stunned as Matthew and did little to hide it.

"I'm sorry," Travis apologized, looking worriedly at their expressions. "I don't mean to be demanding."

"No, no, not at all," Matthew recovered. "We do have a wedding date. It's the first Saturday of March."

"Ah, I believe that day is available," Travis nodded. "And quite appropriate, yes. With Ash Wednesday two weeks beforehand, everyone will be quite ready for a bit of a celebration, I expect."

Mary regarded the minister she had known since she was born warily. "Forgive me, Reverend Travis, but the reason we had not come to you beforehand was that we expected you would not want to marry us."

Travis stared at her in shock. "I beg your pardon, my Lady? Why would you ever think that?"

"Because the Church frowns upon remarriage while the former spouse remains alive," Matthew blurted out, glancing over apologetically at Mary. "We expected that given Lady Mary's recent divorce…"

"My Lord, with the utmost respect, you have no idea of what you speak," Travis interrupted him.

Matthew stopped short, his mouth hanging open for a second.

"The Church tells us that it is up to the clergyman, in particular, to decide whether a couple may remarry in the Church," Travis continued. "There are questions that we are encouraged to ask of any couple seeking to remarry in the Church, questions designed to test whether or not this new marriage will be a life-long faithful partnership, whether you as a couple will grow together as Christians united in your faith."

Matthew nodded slowly.

"Reverend Travis," Mary said slowly. "As much as it pains me to raise this subject, you do understand that His Lordship and I have loved each other for years, including during the years that I was married. I should hate to put you in an untenable position where you would be forced to…"

"Lady Mary," Travis interjected, raising his hand. "I have known you since you were a newborn. I baptized you and your sisters. I have watched over this flock all the years of your life. I welcomed His Lordship to Downton when he arrived here with his mother and have watched him as he has become a part of our community, first as your father's heir, and subsequently as the Earl. Most recently I have seen how he has involved you in his stewardship over the people here, how the two of you are inseparable in both your work and your personal time. There is very little that I can say that I know with utmost certainty, for God continues to teach us all with each passing day just how little we truly know. What I do know, however, is that if the two of you are not an example of what a life-long partnership is, the world is a far sadder place than I understand it to be."

Mary couldn't stop herself from bursting into tears, which made the baby in her arms gurgle at her with concern. She smiled and wiped her cheeks, assuring the little boy that all was well.

"So if I understand you correctly…" Matthew managed, daring not to hope that what he was hearing was true.

Travis smiled and nodded to both of them. "The Earl of Grantham must be married in the Village Church, particularly when his bride is a woman who he has loved for ten years by my count. It would be my honour to marry the both of you."

Mary and Matthew both exhaled at hearing the words.

"If I might add, as well," Travis said, lowering his voice. "I never did care for Lady Mary's first husband. I'm quite pleased to see her rid of him."

Mary gasped in complete disbelief.

"Well, there will be meetings, of course," Travis informed them as he rose to his feet. "We will need to speak more thoroughly, have some conversations about God and faith and marriage, of course. All of that can be arranged in the New Year. I will reserve the date for you and I will see both of you at mass this Sunday."

"You will," Matthew nodded, rising and shaking the man's hand enthusiastically. "Good day, sir."

"Good day, my Lord, my Lady," Travis nodded before taking his leave. "Oh, and if you could do me one favour, please."

"Of course," Matthew answered.

"Do tell the Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley that we have spoken," Travis smiled knowingly. "As much as I welcome their visits, we have been seeing quite a lot of each other in recent weeks."

Matthew stared at him, once again stunned speechless.

Travis bowed his head and left.

When the Reverend was finally out the door, Matthew was able to turn and look upon Mary's smiling face. Fresh tears were on her cheeks that she made no move to clean away.

"There you go again," she sniffled, shaking her head. "Making the impossible happen."

He huffed and came over to kiss her softly. "It wasn't me, clearly. Are you happy at this unexpected development?"

"Yes," she nodded, laughing incredulously. "I already couldn't wait to become your wife, but now knowing we'll be using our Church, well, it's wonderful, darling."

"It is," he agreed, smiling at her and the baby.

"Here we are," Anna declared, bringing a tray over to the table with their food. "Oh! Is everything all right? Did he do something terrible?"

Mary laughed and shook her head, passing the baby back to his mother before wiping her eyes. "No, no, Anna. He's an absolute darling."

Matthew passed her his handkerchief and sat back down, nodding to Anna in assurance. "We're all right, Anna, truly."

He turned and took Mary's hand in his.

"Completely all right," Mary confirmed.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1923**

"You don't like it, do you? You don't. You hate it. Well, just change it, then," Edith sputtered. "This is your house, not mine. Do what you please with it."

Mary arched her eyebrow and cast another glance around the nursery. Pausing for a moment, she finally smiled and nodded to her beleaguered sister.

"It's quite nice," Mary declared. "Honestly. I think you've done well and I'm sure that Sybil will agree when she gets here. Besides, Marigold is already quite comfortable here, so why change anything?"

Edith sighed in relief. "I thought that you would be offended that I dared to touch a room that ought to have been yours to decorate."

Mary smiled patiently. "I was still married at the time and had no claim here. Besides, I know that Matthew asked you to do it and he did it for a reason. He wants this place to feel as if it still belongs to all of us, no matter where we go or where we live."

Edith nodded. "He told me that, yes. This will always be home, he said."

"I can't wait for Sybil to visit," Mary smiled, turning and heading for the hallway. "I even miss Tom, as strange as that sounds."

"It does sound strange," Edith laughed. "I miss them, too. Letters and the odd phone call don't make up for not having seen her for so long."

"Hopefully, we'll see more of each other in the years to come," Mary stated. "I know Matthew would want to visit Ireland and I'm not entirely against the idea myself."

"Is it safe?" Edith asked.

Mary shrugged. "Sybil's there. It's her home now. I would rather she come here but it's a bit unreasonable to never pay her a visit in return. I don't expect we'll go until next year at the earliest, but I've accepted that we will."

"After you've had Matthew's heir, you mean," Edith teased.

Mary tried to look aghast but failed miserably. "Edith! We aren't even married yet!"

Edith looked at her wryly.

Mary rolled her eyes. "Well, there is always the possibility of it happening rather soon, I suppose."

"A very real possibility," Edith retorted. "It seems to me that you picked your wedding date with a rather specific reason in mind."

Mary sputtered this time, her cheeks flaming. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Edith smirked. "We lived in the same house for most of our adult lives. Our cycles were completely in step, if you recall."

Mary glared at her sister to no effect.

"I imagine Matthew would love nothing more than for you to become pregnant on your wedding night," Edith noted confidently, undeterred by her sister's attempt to scold her.

Mary huffed as they came down the stairs and into the Great Hall. "Don't you dare breathe a word of your mad imaginings to anyone."

"Your secret is safe with me," Edith laughed.

Mary allowed a smile to cross her lips before she composed herself and led her sister into the parlour.

"We were beginning to wonder if we needed to send a search party out for you," Matthew joked, smiling as Mary came to his side.

"We weren't gone for that long," Mary replied, smiling as she reached over and pinched Marigold's cheek. The little baby squirmed in Matthew's arms, tucking her face into his chest.

"She's still alive. I suppose you both can be trusted after all," Edith remarked, smiling at Anthony.

"Matthew is very good with children," Anthony nodded. "She's quite taken with him I think."

"Any girl with Crawley blood adores him," Edith smiled, watching the beautiful picture of her sister and Matthew fussing over a baby.

Matthew looked at Mary knowingly having heard Edith's comment. "What do you think? I am popular with women in your family, aren't I?"

"Marigold is too young to know you as well as the rest of us," Mary noted. "I suppose she'll learn to tolerate you when she gets older."

"Luncheon is served, my Lord," Carson called from the doorway.

"I'll take her," Edith stated, coming over and pulling her daughter from Matthew. "Nanny should try and feed her while she's in an agreeable mood."

Edith and Sir Anthony went through with Marigold, leaving Mary and Matthew to follow behind.

"Is that what you do?" Matthew whispered, his breath warm on Mary's cheek. "Tolerate me? You find me bearable, do you?"

"Bearable enough," Mary answered, looking at him and deliberately licking her lips. "You need only continue to bewitch me for another two months and I'll be yours forever after that."

He grinned. "Forever. I like the sound of that."

She laughed and took his arm as he escorted her to the dining room.


	17. Chapter 17

**Previously:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, January 1923**

Matthew looked at Mary knowingly having heard Edith's comment. "What do you think? I am popular with women in your family, aren't I?"

"Marigold is too young to know you as well as the rest of us," Mary noted. "I suppose she'll learn to tolerate you when she gets older."

"Luncheon is served, my Lord," Carson called from the doorway.

"I'll take her," Edith stated, coming over and pulling her daughter from Matthew. "Nanny should try and feed her while she's in an agreeable mood."

Edith and Sir Anthony went through with Marigold, leaving Mary and Matthew to follow behind.

"Is that what you do?" Matthew whispered, his breath warm on Mary's cheek. "Tolerate me? You find me bearable, do you?"

"Bearable enough," Mary answered, looking at him and deliberately licking her lips. "You need only continue to bewitch me for another two months and I'll be yours forever after that."

He grinned. "Forever. I like the sound of that."

She laughed and took his arm as he escorted her to the dining room.

 **Chapter 17:**

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1923**

"Matthew, oh, Matthew! I love you so!"

Mary frowned and slowly opened her eyes, her ears prickling at the strange sound of another woman calling her fiancé's name. Blinking several times, she stared up at the smiling face of her youngest sister sitting next to her in bed.

"Shut up, Sybil," Mary groaned, turning over and burying her head in the pillow.

"Wake up, Queen Mary," Sybil joked, lying back down and hugging her sister tightly. "Mustn't keep His Lordship waiting!"

Mary snarled in complaint, though she did nothing to break her sister's hold. "Since when did you wake up so bloody early? The sun isn't even up yet."

"Since I got married, moved to Ireland and had to balance a job and an infant son," Sybil retorted. "Come on, darling. You've only got a few hours to get ready."

"When I agreed to let you sleep in here, it was on the understanding that spending time with you would be a lot of fun like when we were children," Mary grumbled, keeping her eyes closed. "If I wanted someone to nag me, I could have gone to Mama."

"I'm afraid I could never be as much fun in your bed as Matthew surely is," Sybil laughed.

Mary's eyes shot open and she turned her head to glare at her sister. "Sybil!"

Sybil gave her a wry look in return. "Honestly, darling? Don't even try and pretend with me. You spent a month alone here with him, not to mention your trip to Spain. You've obviously shared the same bed already, or you're completely insane."

"I don't know what you're trying to…" Mary sputtered.

"Ah, ah, ah!" Sybil wagged her finger. "Lying on your wedding day is terribly bad luck, you know."

Mary scoffed. "According to who, exactly?"

"I'm sure someone has said something along those lines at some point in time," Sybil shrugged. "Now, let's hear it."

"Let's hear what?" Mary frowned in confusion.

Sybil looked at her pointedly.

Mary's eyes widened. "Sybil! I am not having this conversation with you."

"Oh, come on! I'm already married. You won't shock me. Or, you won't shock me in a bad way, rather," Sybil grinned.

"You were hardly this interested the day of my first wedding," Mary noted.

"Oh God," Sybil groaned, rolling her eyes. "I'm still clinging to the belief that somehow Sir Richard never got to see you naked, or you him."

Mary huffed. "I knew I should have just sent you to stay with Edith."

"Darling, please?" Sybil whinged, giving her sister the most adorable look she could muster. "I just want to know that you're happy, that he makes you happy."

"He makes me very happy," Mary admitted finally.

"I should think so given that you were moaning his name in your sleep last night," Sybil laughed.

Mary's mouth fell open. "I was not!"

"Oh, Matthew, you animal!" Sybil mimicked, closing her eyes and putting her hand to her forehead dramatically. "Take me!"

"I did not say that!" Mary protested, a blush blooming on her cheeks despite her outrage.

"All right, I added that last part, but you were murmuring his name," Sybil declared triumphantly, smiling at her sister's flushed face. "Crikey, Cousin Matthew, not just a handsome face after all."

Mary shook her head and sighed in exasperation. "I cannot believe we're discussing this."

"You don't deny it, then!" Sybil cackled gleefully.

Mary smiled despite herself. "No, I suppose I didn't, did I?"

Sybil squealed and hugged her sister. "I knew it! I knew it! I told Edith that you must have been defiling each other all over the house that entire month! It was fantastic, wasn't it? Which room was the most exciting? Tell me!"

"Your old bedroom," Mary snapped, rolling her eyes but grudgingly hugging her sister back as they snuggled together. "Your stuffed animals were absolutely shocked by what they saw."

"Brilliant!" Sybil laughed. "Oh, darling, I am so elated for you! He loves you so much, you know. You deserve all of this, truly."

"He deserves all of this and more," Mary sighed. "I can't even begin to tell you, darling. He's been so wonderful. He's worked miracles for me and that's not even an exaggeration. I honestly can't believe we're getting married today. I thought I would never get to have this."

Sybil hummed pleasantly.

"I'm so glad you're here to share it with me, even if you are being quite rude and annoying at the moment," Mary smirked.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world, darling," Sybil declared. "And you're right. He deserves to be happy. He's been so good to us. He helped us buy our home and he's been supporting us since we got to Ireland."

Mary blinked in surprise. "He's been sending you money?"

Sybil looked down in embarrassment and nodded. "Tom absolutely hates it, but it's been so much of a help. The months that we don't really need it we've been saving it away for Aidan. We would have a much smaller home in a rather dodgy part of town and would be working extra jobs otherwise. He says he's only doing what Papa would have wanted, but we all know that's a lie. I was afraid that we were taking advantage, but Matthew assures me that things are going well here, and now that I'm back to see the place myself, it seems he's right."

Mary nodded and sat up. Matthew's changes to the farms and the Village were paying off handsomely. As part of her new role in helping him with the estate, he showed her the books and taught her how to do budgets and projections. There were still stores in the Village and farms on the borders that were struggling, but overall they had turned a profit for a full year now and had almost recouped the investments Matthew made following Papa's death. Compared to many families, they were far better off.

"I'm glad that he's been helping you, Sybil," Mary stated. "We'll support you for as long as you need. Even though I miss you terribly and wish you were living in the same country at least, I don't want you to have to struggle."

Sybil smiled. "Thank you. Now, let's get you ready!"

Mary rolled her eyes as her sister bounded out of bed and pulled the cord. By the time Helen came up, the sisters were out of bed and off to the ensuite bathroom to wash. The maid smiled to herself listening to the sound of Lady Mary and Lady Sybil cheerfully gabbing away. Excitement and anticipation filled the air and she went to her Mistress' dressing room to fetch her wedding gown.

"Do you know when Lady Edith is expected, Helen?" Mary asked when she came back out of the bathroom.

"She's due to arrive shortly, my Lady," Helen answered. "Mrs Bates was just feeding her little one downstairs. She'll be up to do Lady Sybil's hair in a moment."

Mary smiled and nodded. Anna and her family had stayed over last night at her insistence. Though Anna was a guest and not a lady's maid today, she was still invited to help Mary and her sisters get ready for the ceremony.

"Do you think that the boys are awake yet?" Sybil called, admiring the diamond headband that Mary would be wearing with her veil.

"Tom probably not. Matthew will be," Mary replied.

"Quite right," Sybil laughed. "The poor boy probably didn't sleep at all."

Mary smiled, remembering how perturbed Matthew was yesterday when Mama dismissed him so that he wouldn't see Mary before the wedding. She suspected that Sybil spending the night in her bedroom was part of a plan to ensure that Matthew did not sneak over after everyone retired. She found the entire situation quite amusing. Though it was the first night that she and Matthew had not shared the same bed in months, she wasn't bothered. Tonight and every night from now on they would be together, and an impatient Matthew could be quite exciting to be with.

"Sybil, what's this?" Mary frowned, noticing for the first time a box on her vanity that she knew was not there last night.

"What's what?" Sybil asked, coming over to her vanity and seeing the box sitting there. "I've never seen that before."

"Helen?" Mary asked, looking over at her lady's maid.

"It's from His Lordship, my Lady," Helen nodded. "He bade me give it to you this morning and no sooner."

Mary sat down and looked at the box, shaking her head knowingly. "That man."

"How curious. I thought he was supposed to give you something the night of the wedding, not the morning of," Sybil smirked.

"Darling, vulgarity is no substitute for humour," Mary warned, though she couldn't stop smiling.

"Just open it and let's see what he's gotten you," Sybil urged her.

Mary grinned and pulled the bow loose before lifting the lid and pulling back the paper.

She and Sybil both gasped in unison.

The paper cover was rather fancy, with decorative script and drawings of music notes floating about. What drew Mary's attention though was the circular label in the centre. She gingerly picked up Matthew's present and reached in to pull out a black phonograph record.

"Is that?" Sybil asked quietly.

"It is," Mary nodded, smiling as she read the label.

 _'Lucy Grey and Stanley Kirkby – If You Were the Only Girl In the World'_

She stared at the record, her mind wandering back to years ago. It was during the War when Downton was converted to a convalescent hospital for wounded soldiers. Sybil had become an auxiliary nurse at Isobel's recommendation and Mary and Edith helped out where they could, mainly seeing to the patients' comfort. To keep them entertained and their spirits up, Edith organized shows and concerts where villagers would perform in the evenings. She somehow even managed to coerce Mary into singing.

She remembered that night so very clearly all these years later. She wasn't particularly looking forward to the concert, the idea of singing in front of all of these strangers not at all appealing. Truthfully, her mind was elsewhere, as it often was back then. She frequently wondered how Matthew was doing in France, whether he was safe, whether he was thinking about her at all even though he was engaged to Lavinia and she to Richard. The reality of his situation hit her the night before the concert, unexpectedly and devastatingly so.

 _'Matthew's missing.'_

Ironically, it was Edith who told her, going against Papa's wishes even. They didn't get along much back then, though they were rarely at odds with the War taxing everyone's strength. When Mary found out that Matthew had disappeared behind enemy lines she broke down, barely able to sleep that night. She had prayed for him, prayed for him every night since he left for the Front. He was missing. He could be dead. She never felt more useless.

She didn't want to sing at the concert. She didn't want to do anything. It was one thing to have to live with Matthew engaged to another woman. To live without him at all? That was unfathomable.

When Edith started playing the piano at the concert, Mary shut off her mind and sang the lyrics to _If You Were the Only Girl In the World_ as if she was in a trance. Row upon row of soldiers dressed in their uniforms stared back at her, but all she could see was the one man who wasn't there.

Until he was.

She thought her mind was playing tricks on her when she noticed the two men who came into the room during her song. She wouldn't have paid any attention to them at all except she saw the familiar Captain's insignia on the one man's shoulders, then the combed hair that was blond turned to brown and finally the blue eyes trained on her. No one else in the world could possibly have those same eyes.

 _Matthew_.

She stopped singing and Edith stopped playing. The entire room seemed to pause and look at Matthew and Mason standing in the aisle. She cried herself to sleep just the night before thinking he was dead, wandered aimlessly through the day believing he was lost to her forever, and there he was.

It was all she could do to not tackle him to the ground and shower him with kisses, fiancés be damned.

 _'Come on, don't stop for me,'_ he said in embarrassment and somehow he was suddenly striding towards her singing the song, singing _their_ song, and Edith began playing again and Mary found her voice again and it was probably the happiest she had felt since the blasted War started.

"How very clever of him," Sybil noted, lightly touching Mary's shoulder.

Mary nodded in agreement. "That's Matthew."

She returned the record back to its cover and placed it in the box. Helen came over and set it aside so she could set out Mary's creams and powders and ready the hair pins and combs to style her hair.

"Ready, my Lady?" the maid asked.

Mary smiled and nodded to her reflection in the mirror. "I've been ready for this day for some time."

 **Village Church, Downton Village, Yorkshire, England, March 1923**

Considering that today was the wedding of the Earl of Grantham and Lady Mary, the Village was strangely empty, William thought as he walked towards the Church, his wife's hand firmly holding his. He expected there to be people lining the streets cheering and waving flags, crowds gathered around the Church hoping for a glimpse of the groom and bride. There was none of that, though. It seemed to be a normal day – the shops and restaurants were all open, people were walking around or going about their business as though nothing significant or meaningful was happening.

"Why are you looking like that?" Daisy asked, smiling at him.

"Like what?" he mumbled, glancing over at her.

"Casting about as though you're looking for treasure," she laughed.

He chuckled. "No, I'm just wondering where all the people are, that's all. The Captain's wedding ought to bring everyone out, ought it?"

She smiled and nodded. Her husband was one of the few to refer to Lord Grantham by his military title, a privilege that was enjoyed only by the remaining members of their regiment and some of the other soldiers who had returned to settle in Yorkshire. It wasn't proper, she knew, but it was a reminder of the bond they shared, the connection they would always have over the horrors they had lived through and how they relied upon each other still. William's nightmares were few and far between now, but they still happened. She did the best she could, and he made her feel so special every time he told her that she had saved him back then, but he still needed his mates and His Lordship was one of them.

"I think it's supposed to be a bit more private – just family and friends," she stated. "It's Lady Mary's second wedding, so…"

"So what?" he asked, looking at her in confusion.

She shrugged. "So you aren't supposed to make a big show of it the second time around."

"Who told you that?" he questioned.

"No one. I just think that's what people believe," she answered.

"I don't know for sure but I'd bet this year's crop that Lady Mary is happier today than she was the first time around," he noted. "He's loved her forever, you know. Since before the War."

She nodded. When she was in service, Daisy didn't have much to say about the Crawley family. They all seemed nice enough, but she didn't have anything in common with them, especially Lady Mary and her sisters with their fancy clothes and jewellery. Whenever she thought of Lady Mary, her mind wandered back to that dark night when she saw Lady Grantham, Lady Mary and Anna carrying that Turk along the upstairs hallway. He was dead the next morning. She never breathed a word of it to anyone except Lady Edith, and never talked about it with Anna or even William. She didn't know what happened and didn't want to know, but it was nice to be back here all these years later, getting to see Anna and Mr Bates, Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson and everyone they knew again. If His Lordship and Lady Mary were happy, then so much the better. She knew better than most how much fun it was when you were happy in your marriage.

"Don't you go betting anything," she scolded her husband, smiling at him playfully. "We need that money. We can't be living on His Lordship's generosity forever."

"What are you talking about? We pay what we owe all fair like," he protested.

She laughed. "That's right, but we pay less than the neighbours. He favours us and it ain't right. If your Dad found out…"

"Dad knows that I saved the Captain's life, didn't I? And he saved mine a few times," he replied. "Of course he favours us. We're brothers, you know."

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "Right, you are. Just don't go getting into gambling. You don't need to."

"You're right," he nodded, smiling at her cheekily. "I've already won the big jackpot in you, haven't I?"

She blushed when he pulled her to him and hugged her. He released her just as they reached the steps of the Church and headed inside.

* * *

"Did you notice the reporters and photographers gathered around outside?" Martha asked, shaking her head. "Everyone loves a good story."

"Matthew is quite well-known," Violet replied, pursing her lips and looking everywhere but directly at Cora's mother. "There's great interest in his getting married after all this time."

"Mmm, I would expect that there is great interest in Mary's second marriage," Martha replied, glancing around the half-empty Church. "Though the turnout seems decidedly sparse."

"We wanted to keep it to family and close friends only," Isobel remarked from Violet's other side. "I think it's far more meaningful to not just let everyone and anyone in."

"Especially when it helps avoid any uncomfortable questions," Martha smiled knowingly. "I'm sure you had something to do with deciding who was allowed in, dear Violet. You English are so very obsessed about appearances."

"I should think that you would be in favour of keeping those who are here merely to get a rise out of Matthew and Mary out," Violet retorted. "You seem to like him quite a lot having just met him."

"Matthew is very easy to like, as I'm sure his mother will attest," Martha shrugged, smiling over at Isobel. "He makes Mary happy, which is all that I care about. I never would have thought that Mary would leave her horrible first husband, but she did, in no small part thanks to Matthew's support, I'm sure."

"Why is it that I get the feeling that you know more than you let on?" Violet wondered aloud, raising her eyebrow to the American.

"Because I do, dear Violet," Martha smiled, reaching over and patting the Dowager's hand.

Violet frowned at the comment.

"There he is," Isobel called proudly.

The three ladies turned to see Matthew and Tom walking towards the altar.

* * *

"How nervous are you?" Tom asked, keeping his voice down as they reached their seats in the first pew.

"Probably more nervous than you were," Matthew answered.

"I doubt that. I threw up twice," Tom recalled.

"It was three times. I was there, remember?" Matthew joked. "Thank God that it was Kieran's job to look after you. You almost made me sick, too."

Tom chuckled and nodded. "You don't need to be nervous. After all that's happened, nothing could go wrong today. You're meant to be together. I knew that the entire time I was at the house. We all did."

Matthew smiled. "Better late than never, as they say."

"What do you think Robert would say about all of this?" Tom mused. "You, me and Sir Anthony as his sons-in-law?"

"I like to think he's pleased," Matthew nodded. "It's not how he envisioned it coming about, clearly, but hopefully, he's happy with the way Downton is being run and how his daughters are living their lives. I know it seemed as though all he cared about was the prestige of our House, but Mary and her sisters were always the most important to him. He just had a different way of showing it."

"I'd never tell Sybil this but I can understand why he gave me such a going over in the beginning," Tom admitted. "When you have children, everything changes. All you want is to protect them and nothing and no one is ever good enough for them in your eyes. You'll see."

Matthew grinned. "That's what he told me when he found out about you and Sybil, actually, a long time ago."

Tom laughed ruefully. "Maybe I'm just being foolish because we're at your wedding, but I like to think that we would have gotten along eventually, me and him. He gave us his blessing in the end and we were cordial, but I think we would have sorted things out."

"Being in Dublin definitely would have helped," Matthew smirked. "The less he knew about what the two of you got up to, the better."

Tom scoffed.

"Listen, I'm only going to say this once," Matthew whispered. "You know that I would never tear you away from your home without good reason. If things get worse over there, I want you, Sybil and Aidan to get yourselves back here immediately. Whatever the cost, whatever it takes, I don't care. This family doesn't need any more heroes, understand? You can support your country, support change, and be part of history without getting yourself killed. Don't make me come there and pull you out because I will."

Tom looked at him and eventually nodded solemnly. "I know. I will."

"Good," Matthew nodded, lightening his mood. "It's one thing to have to deal with me. If Mary has to go and drag the lot of you back here, it'll be far worse."

Tom smiled. "I've already lived through that once. Believe me, I don't want to endure it again."

Matthew laughed in understanding.

"My Lord," Travis said softly, drawing Matthew's attention.

Matthew looked up at the man's smiling face and slowly stood up. Time seemed to freeze as he turned and looked to the Church doors.

Mary was standing just inside, the outdoor sunshine behind her. Carson stood stoic as always at her side, though the hint of a smile graced the butler's face. Her dress was sleek and trim and matched the white of the calla lilies in her bouquet. He didn't know if she would favour the newer fashions and wear something that didn't quite reach her feet, but he was surprisingly pleased to see she had a more traditional gown with a decent train. Even through her veil he could see her smiling face. The guests rose and the musicians played, but none of that registered for him. All he saw was her bright eyes and brilliant smile as they grew closer and closer.

His fingers twitched when she finally reached him. He nodded to Carson in thanks and turned towards Travis. The minister began reading his declarations but Matthew didn't hear them. He knew that Tom was beside him and that Edith and Sybil were sitting on Mary's other side but he didn't see them. His mind was awash with memories and visions, his heart was thumping and he felt desperately impatient all of a sudden.

"You're here," Mary whispered, her voice cutting through the storms in his head and calming him instantly. They both continued to look ahead but he nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "I was afraid you might have a change of heart about having a fallen woman as your wife."

He smirked at her joke, though he knew she was being more than partly serious. Having to watch Mary endure the rejected invitations over the past months had been difficult. Families that she had known since childhood and guests who had attended her first wedding had sent their regrets at not being able to come to this one, with no explanations given; some even didn't bother giving the courtesy of a reply. The exhibition of _Las Meninas_ had worked to a point. She was celebrated in many of the newspapers that came to cover the showing, her name conspicuously absent from Carlisle's publications as expected. Still, her reputation had not been saved entirely. Cora and Edith were still held in higher regard than she was. She spent a lonely Winter Season away from London and hadn't been called upon since. She claimed it was all fine, that she was perfectly happy just with him at Downton, but he knew better. He didn't take it as an affront or a flaw in their relationship. Mary had a life of her own and it had changed profoundly in the past months. He couldn't restore her entirely but he hoped that she would eventually find her footing, and he would be there to hold her up until she did.

"I would never have a change of heart," he replied, noticing her eyebrow arch out of the corner of his eye. "My heart hasn't been my own for years, as you should well know."

They smiled gamely through the ceremony, barely succeeding in keeping their hands to themselves. When they were finally able to leave the Church as husband and wife, they almost ran for the waiting car, but Sybil and Edith corralled them, gently reminding them that they had photographs to be taken on the front steps.

"Whose idea was it exactly to have photographs taken after the ceremony as opposed to back at Downton?" Matthew muttered, standing still as family and guests moved in around them.

"It was mine," Mary answered, holding tight to his arm. "We were apart all last night. What was another few hours was my thinking."

"I object vociferously to your reasoning," he said tightly.

"Patience, darling," she chided him. "In about ten hours or so, you'll have me all to yourself."

She smiled as he grunted in frustration.

"As the Earl of Grantham, I could kiss you right here in front of everyone and no one would dare object, you know," he retorted. "I could do all manner of things."

"But you won't," she declared. "Because that's not who you are."

He grunted again before turning to look directly at her.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, his blue eyes reaching inside of her. "Because I need to…very much."

She grinned. "All right, husband. And I wasn't being serious. I can't wait to be alone with you, either."

His face lit up before he pulled her to him and kissed her soundly, drawing cheers from those standing around them, even the newspaper reporters who came here to write all about the divorced Lady Mary Crawley and her marriage to her lover. The photographer didn't bother calling out instructions and instead took the photo while the happy couple were still locked together.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, March 1923**

"What a reception committee! Do you remember when he said that? God, I think Mama looked at Papa in shock, as if she was asking 'this is the man you found?'" Sybil laughed, shaking her head at the memory.

"I'm sorry if the sight of a mob of servants lined up in rank all staring at me was a bit of a shock. Such things weren't considered normal occurrences before dinner in Manchester," Matthew grumbled.

"Poor darling," Mary smirked, patting his face. She snuggled closer to him on the sofa. All of the guests had departed hours ago and the family dinner had wrapped up a while past. After seeing Isobel and Granny off and saying goodnight to her parents and Grandmamma, Mary gathered in the sitting room by the fire with her sisters and their husbands. Edith found a bottle of champagne and Tom some whisky and they sat around reminiscing on the past. The children were all asleep and the servants gone home and for a few scant hours they were six people huddled together enjoying good drink and good company.

"The welcome beforehand was nothing compared to the treatment Mary gave him over dinner," Edith grinned knowingly.

"I agree," Matthew nodded, looking at Mary pointedly.

"You deserved it after what you said about us at Crawley House," Mary retorted.

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Lucky for all of you that I came along when I did. Just imagine where you would be today without me."

The sisters all exchanged wry glances.

"I told you he was full of himself," Mary shrugged. "Nothing's changed."

Edith and Sybil laughed while Tom and Sir Anthony remained quiet so as not to be the fresh targets of their wives' sharp tongues.

"Well, on that note, we need to go up, I think," Sybil declared, rising from the other sofa. "Aidan has been waking up early since we got here so our chances of sleeping for a decent amount of time are dwindling by the minute."

Tom shook his head and followed her lead.

"Good night, darling," Sybil smiled, kissing Matthew on the cheek. "Congratulations. You've been my wonderful older brother for years but now it's official."

"Thank you," Matthew replied, hugging her before she went on to say good night to Mary. Matthew shook Tom's hand and clapped him on the shoulder before the couple headed for the door.

"We need to be going as well," Edith stated, standing up and helping her husband to his feet. "We have luncheon with the neighbours tomorrow."

They all said their goodbyes and Matthew and Mary walked out with them to the Great Hall. Once Sir Anthony's car disappeared down the lane, Mary turned to see her new husband standing by waiting for her.

"Well, it seems we're all alone," she remarked, slowly coming over to him.

"It's about time," he noted before pulling her into his arms. They kissed slowly and tenderly, the still of the house at night reminding them of October, seemingly so long ago, when it was just the two of them here. Their time together was limited back then, each day counting down towards their end. Now, as husband and wife, they had the rest of their lives.

"We ought to head upstairs, don't you think?" she whispered between kisses, pressing herself against him. "You can take your wife to bed."

"What a lovely thought," he said thickly.

After the wedding luncheon, Mary had changed into a more comfortable dress for the rest of the day. Helen removed her veil but kept her headband and coiffure intact. Her white dress was sleeveless and a bit shorter than a wedding gown, but still elegant enough to mark the special occasion.

"Are we sleeping in the Bachelor's Wing tonight?" she teased. "It's not entirely appropriate anymore to keep your room there, is it?"

He smiled and kissed her again. "First off, I intend for you to get very little sleep tonight, Lady Mary."

She hummed pleasantly as she opened her mouth to him.

"Second, no, we're not sleeping in the Bachelor's Wing," he finished.

Before she could question him further, he scooped her up off the floor, her surprised laugh floating up to the ceiling as he carried her up the stairs quickly and easily.

"This really isn't necessary, you know," she grinned, hanging on to his shoulders and neck as they went. "I'm hardly a blushing bride anymore."

"You're my wife," he countered. "That's reason enough."

She relaxed in his hold, leaning her head against his neck, breathing him in – his scent, his pulse, his presence. They should have had this so long ago, and yet they should have never had it at all as well. She once believed that God didn't care about her, or perhaps didn't even exist at all given what she had seen and endured. Now, though, late at night, she's being carried in the arms of her husband up the stairs of her family home and the world seems right for the first time in years.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, arching her eyebrow once they reached the gallery. He passed the Family Wing and headed down an unfamiliar hallway. Suspended as she was in his hold, she didn't quite have her bearings.

"This is a new beginning for us," he declared, smiling at her, his strength never wavering. "It's only appropriate that we have a new place to call our own."

She stared at him trying to understand his meaning. Before she could comprehend what he was saying, he turned and carried her over the threshold of a room with two large doors. She blinked at the bright lights all around them, her gaze adjusting as he set her back down on her feet.

"Welcome home, my darling," he smiled, kissing her softly before allowing her to take it all in.

It was easily the size of two bedrooms. That's the first thing that she noticed. One side was a bit of a sitting area with a pleasant fire in the hearth and two comfortable chairs. She wandered over to the mantle and grinned at the row of photographs placed there – Papa and Mama on their wedding day, her with Edith and Sybil at Edith's wedding, one of the few photographs of the three of them where they're all smiling, Granny stoic and regal as ever, there's even separate grainy ones of her and Matthew when they were children. The fireplace shelf held plenty of room for more and a warmth filled her at the thought. She knew they would make so many memories together from now on.

She turned and continued to take in her new quarters. A lovely chandelier hung from the ceiling. The bed across the room was large and inviting, with towering posts and soft blankets. Her vanity table was already stocked with her small bottles and jars and she could see a spacious dressing room beyond a doorway. Looking back behind her, she noticed the ensuite bathroom and another dressing room, surely Matthew's.

"What do you think?" he asked, coming up behind her and circling his arms about her waist.

Her hands moved down to cover his across her front. "It's beautiful, darling."

"You can decorate it however you wish," he continued, kissing her shoulder. "There's a day room across the hall and a bit of a study further down. This entire wing was closed off for decades. We can make it whatever we wish."

Their joined hands over her stomach made her pulse jump as his words sunk in. She turned her head and kissed him, his firm chest against her back flaring her arousal.

"What about a nursery?" she asked quietly, suddenly afraid to look into his eyes.

"There's space for one," he replied easily. "The room next door is empty. It adjoins your dressing room."

She smiled against his lips. She could almost picture a little boy with his father's blond hair and blue eyes waddling through her dressing room and over to grab at her while she sat at her vanity.

"I suppose we won't need to worry about that until a little further down the line?" she muttered, kissing him again.

"Whenever it happens, it won't be a worry, not at all," he answered confidently and her desire for him rose ever higher. "We could even get started tonight if you wanted."

Her half-lidded eyes widened at his statement and she searched his smiling face, wondering if he was merely teasing her.

"Wouldn't you rather have me all to yourself for a year or two?" she questioned, not entirely certain what she wanted him to answer.

He nodded and kissed her, his tongue slipping past her lips intently. "We're going to be together for the rest of our lives, Mary. No matter how many children we have, we'll always have each other first and foremost."

She whimpered as his kisses grew more heated, his fingers beginning to roam over her body.

"I'm not afraid of sharing you with our children. You have more than enough love for all of us," he said smoothly. "And I know that you're going to be a wonderful mother."

"How do you know?" she asked, her head falling back against his shoulder as he nipped at her neck.

"I know because you're a wonderful woman," he answered, licking her neck where he had marked her with his teeth. "It's always been you, Mary. Even when I was too stupid to see it, even when I dared not believe it was possible. It was always you."

"Matthew," she sighed, swaying on her feet as he kissed his way along her shoulder.

His fingers deftly undid the buttons of her dress along her back, loosening the straps enough to slide them down her arms. He pressed kisses across her nape and along her spine, bringing her camisole down along with her dress.

She gasped as his lips and tongue seared her skin, moving lower to her hips. Her knickers were easily undone and drawn away, and the remains of her clothes pooled at her feet.

"Matthew," she moaned, her head falling back at the pleasure coursing through her. He kissed his way back up, his fingers slipping between her legs from behind and stroking the proof of her arousal.

"You are so beautiful," his voice a confession against her skin.

"I love you," she purred, turning her head to kiss him heatedly. "I love you so very much."

He smiled and turned her around to face him.

"However, husband," she continued, arching her eyebrow playfully at him. "At the moment, you seem to have me at a disadvantage, or is this how our life shall be? You dressed in all your splendour, dapper and gentlemanly, and I naked and waiting upon you?"

His blue eyes clouded with lust as she slipped his jacket off and smoothly removed his tie. Her fingers undid the buttons of his shirt and she leaned forward to kiss and lick his bare skin.

"What is thy command, my Lord?" she asked sultrily.

He snarled in reply, running his hands through her hair and drawing her back up to him to seize her mouth.

She opened his belt and trousers and threw them down to the floor. Breaking free of his hold, she gave him a warning glare before dropping to her knees.

"Mary," he called just before she removed his pants and took him into her mouth.

She swallowed him part way, pulled back and returned for more, his groans spurring her on. Soon, his hips moved in response and she tasted him on her tongue, the thrill of undoing him overwhelming and addictive. After several moments, he managed to pull her up, holding her tight as he moved them towards the bed.

"Fuck me, Matthew," she ordered, pulling him down to the soft blankets. "Fuck your wife."

It was all he could do to not fall apart as he kissed his way up her body and settled on top of her. To hear and see her behaving so wanton for him – for _him_ – was something he would never grow accustomed to. He locked his eyes on hers, his hands pulling her legs apart. Her mouth fell open and she cried out as he drove into her.

"Yes!" she called, her eyes rolling back after he buried all of himself. She clung to him, feeling the sensation of taking him completely, stretched around him and fitted to him as though they were meant for each other even in this most intimate of ways. Ever since her divorce she had suffered scorn and the ludicrous reality that Richard was more favoured by Society now than she was. Yet for this, for _this_ , this absolute rapture of being with Matthew, of being loved by him, cherished by him, ravished by him, fucked senseless by him, she would gladly give up the so-called friends she used to hold dear.

Slowly he began to move, grinding in circles atop her until he eased back and thrust forward again. Every plunge stirred the heat within her, driving her higher and closer to boiling. His deliberate strokes brought her to teetering on the precipice. Just when she thought she might go over, he eased his hips and teased her instead, denying her just enough friction to keep her prisoner to his attentions.

She babbled, begged and cursed, knowing she was enflaming him with every wicked word and filthy demand. In another time with another man she would have been too ashamed to act this way, too terrified to explore whatever dark cravings lurked within her. Matthew set her free. She could never be embarrassed by any of their escapades in the bedroom. Tonight, their wedding night, a night so very long in coming, she wanted nothing more than to be everything he deserved. Temptress. Whore. Angel. Wife. He loved every part of her and accepted it all. She felt invincible with him, able to withstand Society's ridicule and her own mistakes. As he quickened his pace, she moaned with uninhibited joy. Let the whole county hear them for all she cared. Let them hear and envy her.

"Matthew," she shouted, squeezing him tight as her release thundered through her. He barely let up, kissing her while she shook, his thrusts only driving her to further madness. She opened her eyes and watched him, soft cries tumbling from her lips each time he hilted entirely. A second wave built up quickly and crashed within and she thought she might scream herself hoarse from the sheer bliss.

His white teeth blazed, his breath laboured and choked. He took in the sight of her spread out before him, her skin warm and flushed. To know that they now had this forever, that she would never be taken from him again, that they would have a future together made every movement all the more powerful. Mary was his wife. The very thought sent his mind spinning.

"Please," she begged, seeing him chasing his release. "Please, Matthew. I want it. I want it all. Give it to me, please!"

He growled and grunted, every stroke bringing him closer and closer until finally he claimed her mouth with his and filled her. She tensed at the feel of him spreading through her, a silent prayer weaving through the brilliant storm in her mind, a wish that his seed would give her his child, their child.

He moved off of her and lied down on his back, pulling her to him to keep her in contact. They both struggled to speak, what little thought they could manage devoted to calm their breathing. When they had settled enough to once again think coherently, their eyes met and they both smiled.

"Mmm, well, that was worth the wait," she teased. "Married love, indeed."

He chuckled. "That was just the beginning."

She arched her eyebrow. "Haven't you had quite enough?"

He smirked. "Never."

"Well, that raises several possibilities," she remarked, kissing his chest. "What next, then?"

"Next, we shower," he declared, stroking her back. "I have something to show you."

"You have something to show me in the shower?" she questioned suspiciously.

He nodded and smiled at her cheekily. "I had a marble bench put in."

She blushed and shook her head, visions of different ways they could put such a piece of furniture to use filling her mind. "You scoundrel."

He laughed and kissed her lightly. "I'm merely thinking of your comfort, my darling."

She rolled her eyes and kissed him back. "Mmm hmm. My comfort? Is this bench at just the right height for me to bend over it while you take me from behind?"

He grinned devilishly. "Maybe."

"Is it wide enough for me to rest my legs on it while I ride you?" she pressed, arching her eyebrow.

"Possibly," he nodded.

"I wonder how the rest of the bathroom is appointed if you were so thoughtful as to consider my comfort for the shower," she remarked. "What about the counter and the floor? Are they comfortable enough as well?"

He kissed her softly. "Only one way to find out."

She laughed and watched him sit up and get out of bed. Her cheerful voice rang out anew when he turned and scooped her up in his arms.

"Darling, what about the walls of our bedroom? Did you fix them?" she asked.

"I did," he confirmed, carrying her into the bathroom. "They're far more insulated than they were."

"Good," she drawled, licking his face. "Because I am going to scream when you fuck me in the shower."

He set her down and hurried her over to the brand new glass enclosure, both of them laughing in their haste.

 **Downton Abbey, Yorkshire, England, April 1923**

It was a look, Mary concluded after much analysis. The way that people look at Matthew is different. The servants, even Carson and his steadfast ways. The villagers and tenants, some who have been living on her family's lands for generations, others who have just moved here after the War. Her sisters, Sybil who sees Matthew as a hero, Edith who sees him as a dear friend. They all look at him differently than they have others.

Everyone looked up to Papa. They knew him as the Earl of Grantham, benevolent and kind, a caretaker who would look out for them. They never saw his failings, his wild ideas and desperate strategies, the burden he carried of trying to live up to those who came before him. They looked at him with reverence born from his title. She would always believe that the truth of his parentage killed him. Maybe he was terrified of the truth getting out because, without the title, he didn't know who he was.

Everyone was afraid of Richard. Men and women. Young and old. Rich and poor. They saw him as a scourge, a man who used their words against them, someone who could uncover their secrets and hold them over their heads. Even his supposed friends and colleagues cast a wary eye towards him, never quite letting their guard down.

Everyone looks at Matthew differently. They don't all like him, of course. The farmers, even the ones who like him, resent his drastic changes to their way of life. The servants, particularly those that he let go once he became Earl, see him as the man who took away the careers they knew. They don't hate him, though, and they don't fear him. Not at all.

Sybil adores him. She probably would have married him eventually if Mary hadn't come to her senses that night of the by-election. Tom would never have stood a chance against the heir who would have let her have a career and treated her as an actual person rather than a debutante to be sheltered and protected. Mary can't be jealous. She knows her husband's heart was hers long ago and that he never could think of Sybil as anything but a dear sister.

It's Edith who probably epitomizes the way people look at Matthew the most. Edith who was thrown at him first, or jumped ahead in the queue more accurately. She doesn't see him as the one that got away, another man who she lost to Mary, or even the cousin who likes her well enough. He's the man who supported her when she fought against her family to marry Sir Anthony. He's the one who makes the effort to keep in touch and check in on her. He's the cousin who sees her not only as a wife and mother, but as a writer, a property manager, a woman of worth.

All of these people look at Matthew the way they didn't at Papa, the way they don't at Richard. Whether they care for him or not, whether they understand him or not, whether they love him or not, they all look at him with respect. It's not a respect given out of obligation like it was with Papa. It's not a respect given out of fear like it is with Richard. It's a respect that Matthew's earned through hard work, effort, sacrifice, and an unyielding and unapologetic dedication to being who he is and standing up for what he believes in. Even those who disagree with him or even despise him have to give him that, that he is who he is and doesn't try and convince anyone otherwise.

Their honeymoon will take them back to Madrid before heading to Barcelona and up to Cannes and the French Riviera. He promised her he would take her to the Côte d'Azur and if it's one thing she knows about her husband by now, it's that he keeps his promises to her. They aren't leaving until late May, which suits her. She knows he's planned it so that they'll be away from London during June and a part of her regrets that such steps need to be taken so that she isn't left to wallow in her lack of invitations once again, but another part of her is amused by it all. Society still holds her in contempt and rather than dwell on that, Matthew instead is taking her on a vacation.

It's such a simple solution to him, the expense and time involved that would shock anyone else merely details. It's as it was with the loan and exhibition of _Las Meninas_ , such an outlandish and ridiculous idea on its face. Yet, to Matthew, it made perfect sense. Whatever it cost didn't matter because he is insanely wealthy and to him, spending money on her cause is money well spent. Making the request to the Spanish wasn't intimidating to him at all because the worst they could do was say no. This is what he does. This is who he is. That's why people look at him that way.

She shivered even now thinking about a future with this man, with a man who loved and respected her more than anyone else in her entire life. It seemed too good, too perfect. All of their toil and struggle wasn't supposed to end in this – sheer and utter happiness. They were supposed to fight and claw and eventually lose, severed forever by something or someone too formidable to overcome. Each of them has thought that at some point in the past years. The War. Lavinia. Granny's secret. Richard. Papa's death. No one could survive all of it.

And here they are.

They said goodbye to Sybil, Tom and Aidan last week, sending them back to Dublin with no small amount of trepidation. There's fighting in the capital of Ireland and she prays that her sister and her family will be safe. Matthew assured her that he spoke to Tom and that they'll come back if it gets too dangerous. She hopes it doesn't come to that, but she's glad that she's now here at Downton and no longer at Haxby, that she can think of her sister without fear of raising husband's ire.

Edith and Sir Anthony have been by for dinner at least once a week since the wedding. Mary is debating arranging a regular weekly appointment for tea with her sister, but she doesn't want to do anything to shatter the peace between them and maybe it's better to just let Mama deal with all the organizing. They've reached a comfortable place in their relationship, able to speak to each other openly and freely. There's still a bite to their interactions. They're too close in age and have been through too much with each other to not spar from time-to-time. The malice is gone, though. They've left the past where it belongs and can laugh and joke and even insult each other without fearing the other will hold a grudge. Mary is friends with her middle sister now, and Lord knows they could each use some of that.

Mary does visit with Granny several times a week, even when Mama and Isobel aren't around to go along with her. Their conversations are never overly serious, which they both appreciate. Granny has accepted that Downton is Matthew's and hers now, and she's content to stay in the background. She still has plenty to keep her busy, particularly since she and Isobel now work together to champion whatever cause needs their help. Mary never discusses the Russian with Granny, and Granny, of course, never raises it. Mary has never forgiven her for the entire mess, and never will, but she's the last person to judge another woman for losing her mind over a man. It's all come good now, thanks to Matthew, and just as he refuses to hold her true lineage against her, she has accepted that there's no point wondering about it or hating Granny over it. She's Lady Mary Crawley now and for the rest of eternity. That's all that matters.

Living with Mama again has taken some adjustment. It's a delicate balance given that Mary is now Countess of Grantham and Mama has had difficulty letting go of her power. She still plans the odd menu and still organizes the garden party and the Church bazaar. She still treats Mary like a child sometimes, which is infuriating, but Matthew is there to remind her to be patient, or to just ignore her if that's what it takes. Having Grandmamma visit for the wedding was a revelation in many ways. Mama and Grandmamma get along well enough, but there's a division, a distance between them that living very different lives in different countries has created. Mary doesn't want that.

No one has told Mama the truth about Papa and no one will, God willing. Mary knows that she, Matthew and Granny will never utter a word and she hopes that Grandmamma will keep it to herself since she hasn't said anything yet. Mary debated sharing it with her when she moved back to Downton but now knows there's no point in doing so. Papa's death froze the life her parents had and Mary won't ruin those memories. Robert Crawley was her husband and they loved each other. That's all that matters.

Isobel has remained at Crawley House since before the wedding and Mary and Matthew suspect she isn't going to leave for Manchester anytime soon. She's back to working at the Village Hospital and has become Granny's friend and confidant. Mary tries to spend time with her when she can, but there's a bit of a polite wall between them. While she has never shared this with Matthew, she suspects that Isobel, for all of her modern ways and forward thinking, still remembers Mary as the girl who broke her son's heart so many years ago when she didn't accept his proposal the moment it was offered. The fact that Mary divorced her first husband, even if it was to be with Matthew, likely didn't help. She understands. Isobel is fiercely protective of her only child, and she can't quite trust Mary fully after all that's happened. With time, their relationship will improve, she's sure of it. She isn't going anywhere.

Mary slipped her hand beneath the blankets and down to her flat stomach, a mysterious smile curling her lips. She isn't with child yet, but given how relentless her husband has been every night since their wedding, it's only a matter of time now. She's still not entirely sure that she'll be as good a mother as Matthew predicts, but she knows with certainty that she wants children with him, not only to give him an heir but to give them a family. When Aidan and Marigold were here, the entire house seemed brighter, even when they threw their tantrums and cried incessantly. Maybe it will happen in the coming weeks. Maybe it will happen in Spain or France. She's not going to worry about it and just enjoy the many attempts.

"I was right," Matthew declared triumphantly, coming into the bedroom holding a plate aloft as though it was the Holy Grail itself. "There was cake."

She smiled and shook her head in amusement as he brought the dessert to bed.

* * *

Matthew frowned at the papers spread out on the desk before him. There were ledgers and statements, reports and forecasts, numbers upon numbers upon numbers. He had quickly learned how to decipher it all and get to what he was looking for. Downton had turned a profit for six consecutive quarters now, but still he worried whenever it was time to review a monthly package of documents. How many times had Robert missed a bad signal? How many times had one of the previous Earls glossed over an important detail? Despite the estate being lifted out of insolvency, he still worried that it all might come tumbling down and he couldn't let that happen.

It was too important now that he succeed.

There were moments, rare moments where he wondered if he and Mary could live a simpler life together. Sometimes after they finished making love he would lie awake and watch her sleep, picturing the two of them in a cottage or a small flat in London. No titles. No legacies. Just the two of them making their way in the world. What would that be like?

He had no doubt that she would follow him if it came to that. She was no longer the girl he met over a decade ago. The world had changed and she had changed along with it. She was strong now, a storm braver who had seen more than her share of ill winds. It was what made him believe she wouldn't just flee if he lost his fortune and what drove him to do everything in his power to ensure she wasn't put to that test.

After enjoying modest success raising and selling pigs and even better results with cattle, he and Mary were now dabbling with horses. They had purchased two thoroughbreds and were developing them at a well-known farm in Newmarket, Suffolk. The world of horse racing was both expensive and confusing, a combination that caused Matthew great consternation. They wouldn't see any results from their investment for another year at least and having a chunk of their money tied up in such a risky venture was dangerous. Still, he had to admit that he enjoyed making the trip down to see the horses. Mary loved them, loved spending time with them, loved riding them and loved the entire experience. He was careful to ensure that even if it all came to naught, the lost investment would not hurt them significantly. He was more concerned about what would happen if they were mildly successful. Would two horses become four? Six? More? He shuddered at the thought. Horse racing was a bit of a gamble, and gambling was no longer in his blood. He had pulled off the win of his life nearly two years ago in that fateful poker game and he had no intention of testing his luck again.

"Good afternoon," Mary called, coming into the library.

"Hello," he smiled, rising from his chair to give her a proper kiss. "I thought you and Anna would be a while yet."

"She had to get back to work," she smiled, setting her bags down on the coffee table and going over to pull the cord for Carson. "I think she still gets anxious leaving Bates alone with the baby."

He chuckled and nodded.

The butler soon appeared. "My Lady?"

"Ah, Carson. Could we have some tea, please?" Mary asked.

"Very good, my Lady," Carson nodded. "My Lord."

"Thank you, Carson," Matthew smiled before the butler took his leave.

"What's all this?" Mary asked, coming over to his side and placing her hand on his shoulder. "Ah, the quarterly reports?"

"The quarterly reports, indeed," he confirmed, picking up a page of numbers and passing it to her. "Notice anything out of the ordinary?"

She scanned the statement briefly before she smiled and hummed pleasantly. "Ah. It seems that the Village Spa did brisk business last quarter."

He looked up at her and smiled. "Yes, it did, and I concede defeat, my darling. You were right and I was wrong."

"It just figures that you only admit it now when Carson isn't here to witness your defeat," she teased, leaning down and kissing him. "I told you that the business would be a success. Not everyone has the ability to head to Scarborough, you know, and the options in York aren't anything special."

"I didn't think there would be enough of a demand, but these numbers prove otherwise," he agreed, taking the statement back and setting it down on the table. "I severely underestimated how much women were prepared to pay for an hour or two of pampering."

"You would do well to remember that," she stated, taking his hand and drawing him away from his desk and over to the sofa. "Now, the question is what will your punishment be?"

"I prefer to phrase the question as what will your spoils be, Mary," he said wryly. "Punishment seems harsh, don't you think?"

"Call it whatever you wish, so long as you understand that regardless of what you call it, it involves you doing what I say," she countered.

"By that definition, I would call it marriage," he smirked, kissing her quickly.

She stifled her retort when Carson came into the room and served their tea.

"Carson, you are here to witness that I have lost a bet with Lady Grantham," Matthew declared, smiling at Mary's face lighting up in delight. "She was right and I was wrong."

"I'll add that to the count, my Lord," Carson nodded and took his leave.

Matthew frowned at the comment. Mary laughed merrily.

"Well, speaking of punishment, what is all this and how much is it costing me?" he asked, nodding towards the bags from her shopping trip with Anna.

"Less than half the national debt, I assure you," she teased.

He chuckled and sipped his tea. "That's a bargain, then. My debt to you is far greater."

She smiled and reached over to pinch his cheek. "Charmer."

"So none of this is for me, is it?" he asked again, looking over at her purchases.

"Perhaps some of it is for you," she replied. "I may have bought a new garter."

He grinned. "Did you?"

"I suppose you'll have to wait to find out," she replied. "Pity that you have all those reports to review. I have nothing at all to occupy myself this afternoon."

He gave her a wry smile. "All those reports that _I_ have to review? You need to read them as well, might I remind you?"

"But I'm just an English country wife," she protested with false innocence. "How could a brainless dullard like me ever learn how to read a financial report? All those numbers. Goodness."

He laughed and shook his head. "You must be kind to poor Jarvis."

"Why should I be?" she scoffed at the mention of her family's former estate agent. "He's lucky that you dismissed him. I wouldn't have been nearly so kind, nor as generous with paying for his retirement."

"He served this family well, albeit in an archaic and entirely inefficient manner," he muttered. "I must say that I find the current agent far more agreeable to work with."

She arched her eyebrow at him. "So you should. All right, let's get through these reports now and we can then go upstairs and I might be willing to show you what I've bought."

"What do I need to do to convince you to model them for me?" he asked cheekily, taking her hand and helping her up from the sofa.

"I'm sure that I'll think of something between now and then," she replied, squeezing his hand.

They went over to the desk and took their usual seats next to each other. He separated out the reports and handed a sheaf of them to her while he took up those he was working on before. They settled into their usual silence whenever they worked together, both of them scribbling notes here and there before passing the reports back and forth. The afternoon sun shone lazily through the usual Yorkshire clouds outside. Spring was upon them and the long days ahead were full of possibilities.

 **fin**

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Thank you to everyone for reading, reviewing, following and favouriting this story. The support that I receive, including constructive criticism, is invaluable. Returning to canon period was a bit daunting for me after becoming so settled in modern AU. I believe this has convinced me to stay in modern times going forward, but it was fun to play around with this concept and a story that kept Mary and Matthew apart far longer than what I usually write. My original idea for the story was for Matthew to wake up from a dream after Mary went back to Haxby and for this to actually be a sequel set in the _Let's Be Strong_ _AU_ with a dazed Matthew going to take a shower at Eryholme and finding Mary there safe and sound. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed that wasn't as satisfying a resolution to their dilemma. Perhaps I'll write it as an alternate ending to this story someday. For now, I have other modern AU ideas for this couple that I hope you will find interesting.


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